


Transgressions

by Steena



Series: Transgressions verse [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Abusive Step-Parent, Abusive prison guard, Alcohol Induced Memory Loss, Alcoholic step-parent, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad cop!Barricade, Blow Jobs, Bribery, Cavity Search, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Conning someone and leaving them in debt, Corruption, Crimes & Criminals, Crooked cop, Deepthroating, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Violence, Dominance, Dreadbot lost his plating again, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Facials, Group Sex, Heavy Angst, Homelessness, Humor, Knotting, Life in a brothel, Masturbation, Mentions of non-con BDSM, Mentions of raping someone who's dying, Mentions of sexual slavery, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-con public groping, Non-con teacher/student relationship, Non-consensual loss of virginity, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Pimp!Ironhide, Plot With Porn, Power Imbalance, Prison, Prison Sex, Prostitution, Rape Aftermath, Recharging with a spike in the port, Repossession of alt mode, Sex Toys, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Coercion, Shooting Guns, Shooting Range, Shower Sex, Starvation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teenage Rebellion, Tongue Fucking, Topping from the Bottom, Trading interfacing for rent, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Warframes are basically slaves, crappy childhood, mentions of non-con drug use, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 397
Words: 204,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20600300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/pseuds/Steena
Summary: Barricade did not have a happy childhood. He still decided to go on to be an Enforcer, to help people. But there's so much temptation out there, and some bribes for looking the other way are far too easy to justify as "helping people." Internal affairs get involved, and then it goes steadily downhill. After all, who on Cybertron would hire an ex-Enforcer, convicted for corruption, possession, and public indecency?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first seven chapters are about Barricade's childhood, and it's about domestic violence, child abuse, and sexual assault, so if you find that triggering, please skip those chapters

Barricade grew up with his carrier, and his bastard of a step-sire. His step-sire liked Engex, and when he was on it — which was most of his spare time — he had a penchant for beating his conjux to scrap. Sometimes, when Barricade didn't manage to hide quickly enough, or well enough, he got smacked around too. The Enforcers were called out by the neighbors — over and over they came out to check the domestic disturbances — but Barricade's carrier always had a good exuse for his sorry state, and whenever it was needed, for the way Barricade looked too.

_"I fell down some stairs:"_

_"I slipped in the washracks."_

_"He fell down when he was playing at school."_

_"He knocked a pot from a shelf and it landed on his helm. He was stealing energon treats from the jar. You know, kids and their antics..."_

_As if they ever had any energon treats._ Barricade was glad when he didn't have to go to berth with an almost empty tank.

The Enforcers were unable to do anything, since nobody was ever filing charges, and the one time Barricade said something that made social services investigate more... Well, he would not risk that again. Ever. So he would keep his vocalizer shut, nodding to show he agreed with whatever his carrier said, and the Enforcers would leave.

Then it would start over again.


	2. Chapter 2

He never knew anything else, not until he got older, at least. The few friends he made in school never looked like him — as if they had gone through the scrapper — and he started to realize that what happened in their home probably wasn't what happened in every family, wasn't _right._ His friends parents took their younglings for trips, helped them with homework, played with them, and comforted them when they were sad, and he wanted that too. _Primus, did he want it._

But there was nothing he could do about that injustice.

Up until then, he had been smacked around now and then, had been called names more times than he cared to count, and one time, his carrier locked him in a closet — after thoroughly explaining how unwanted he was, and that Barricade was the only reason his carrier hadn't become rich and famous. In hindsight, Barricade would gladly have it stay that way. _The way it was when he was just a kid, and not a youngling._

His step-sire started to look differently at him as soon as he got into his fourth frame and got his altmode, just one reformat from being fully grown up. It was worrying, the way he garnered attention, because the mech had never taken much interest in him — if Barricade was careful to stay out of his way — something that probably had saved the Saleen from a lot of the worst beatings. Now though, there were long gazes lingering on his plating, openly staring at his shoulder-wings, ogling his aft. _It stopped at staring, though._

Until one day, when Barricade's carrier was working when Barricade got home from a friend's house. His stepsire called out as the Saleen passed the living room. The youngling hesitantly stepped into the room, just past the threshold, watching the unkempt mech on the couch with wary optics, because attention was always a precursor of something bad.

"Come here, Barricade."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do consider Barricade to be above the age of legal consent here, so it's not underage, but what his step-sire is doing is all kinds of fucked up, and it's still not consensual on Barricade's part. If you're uncomfortable with this, please skip this chapter, and the following 4 chapters.

He obeyed, though slowly, not certain what to expect. _There was a half empty bottle of Engex on the table after all, and his step-sire had never expressed interest in coming anywhere near Barricade before. Unless for 'teaching him a lesson' for something the Mustang had done or said, but he couldn't remember doing anything wrong lately. Not that what _he_ considered right or wrong ever mattered._

"You're growing into a really hot little mech, Barricade. Remind me so much of your carrier when he was younger and leaner, you know. Why don't you come and sit on my lap for a while? I'll teach you a thing or two you need to know, now that you're getting all grown up." 

The mech's voice was a low, rough purr, a tone of voice Barricade hadn't heard before, and he knew very well that 'unknown' often equaled 'dangerous'. Hesitantly, he obeyed, afraid to do anything else and risk evoking the mech's bad temper for being disobedient. _He did not want another beating._

"Straddle me." The mech wheezed when Barricade reached him, a servo curling around the Mustang's hip to urge him forward.

Barricade did, sitting stiffly as his step-sire slid his servos up the Saleen's thighs, thumbs trailing the inside of them, tracing seams in his dark plating. The servos reached the juncture of Barricade's hips, thumbs stroking the front of his pelvic plating, and the Mustang felt something behind it respond, throbbing in time with his spark, and he choked on a gasp, not wanting his step-sire to know about his reaction. The touch did feel kind of good, in spite of the mere thought of the mech's servos on his frame making Barricade's plating crawl, and it was utterly confusing.

"You're getting hot behind this panel." The mech smirked knowingly.

Barricade flushed, because something about the mech's voice made it sound like it was something bad to get hot there, and Barricade could feel an odd wetness behind the plate. He couldn't explain why — because nobody had ever touched him like that before, and it did feel sort of good — but he really didn't want anyone to know how he reacted to the touches._ Especially not his step-sire._

A tap of a digit against the plate the mech was stroking. "Open up. I'll make you feel good. Make you a grown up."


	4. Chapter 4

Barricade didn't know what the mech was on about, and he wasn't certain he should really go along with it, but that panel was starting to feel too warm, something behind it betraying his disgust of being so close to his step-sire and wanting more of those touches.

"How? I don't know how to open it." He said, feeling small and stupid for having to ask.

"It's under interface protocols, but I'll help you this time." The mech offered.

A digit dug into the seam, clumsily seeking around for something, and suddenly, something disengaged and the panel popped open. The mech pushed it to the side, made it slip under another plate to disappear. Barricade stared at the components he had never seen before — the ones that had come with his latest reformat — and so did his step-sire, optics bright. A dirty servo reached for him, and Barricade gasped as a digit slipped through pliable folds, feeling around. The Saleen shuddered, his plating crawling every time they touched, and yet being touched down there felt strangely good. 

His step-sire found a sensitive spot and started rubbing it, circling it with the tip of his digit, and Barricade's frame started heating up, the components down there feeling increasingly heavy. The Mustang couldn't silence a startled yelp when another component, in front of the parts his step-sire was toying with, suddenly extended. The mech didn't touch that part, just kept playing with the other components.

"Little slut, getting all worked up for having your valve played with."

_He really needed to read through the manual of his new frame later. He'd skipped that after the reformat, as he always had done before, but he needed to know what this was, why it felt so good when those components were touched._

The digit started feeling more and more slick, making it feel even better when it slipped over that sensitive spot, and his hips twitched of their own accord to rub against that servo. A digit slipped into him, wriggling around, then the servo stilled as the digit hit something inside, something blocking that digit from going deeper. The mech smirked and let his digit slip out.

"Lay down. I'll make a mech of you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barricade non-consensually losing his virginity to his step-sire in this one. If you think it might be triggering, skip this.

Barricade hesitated. He was apprehensive about what his step-sire was planning now, but the mech's drunken grin, optics bright with overcharge, was enough for him to obey. He didn't want to make the mech angry, not when his carrier wasn't there to intervene. _And it did feel kind of good to be touched down there so maybe this would be better than being beaten up again_. 

He tipped over on his back, and his step-sire kneed his legs apart. There was a click of plating shifting, and when Barricade looked down, the mech had pressurized a component that looked similar to the one jutting out from Barricade's pelvic plating. The Saleen tensed for what was going to happen while the mech lined up with Barricade's parts, and then he thrust forward, hilting himself inside the young Praxian.

The Saleen cried out, because the intrusion hurt. _Frag did it hurt!_ He felt his other component recess into it's sheath, and his servos flew up to scrabble against his step-sire's plating to get him away, to stop stabbing him down there.

"Oh, shut up, it's not that bad." The mech grunted, starting to thrust quickly. "Don't be a whiny glitch, you were rocking into my touches just a minute ago. Stop flailing, it'll feel better soon."

Barricade sobbed silently, afraid to make another sound and anger the mech, and he stared off to the side, not wanting to see the disgusting bastard, vents smelling like stale Engex, his dirty plating misting with condensation as he moved on top of the Saleen. His step-sire pushed in deep and stayed still, grunting strangely, and then he sat back up, pulling out of Barricade. He closed the Mustang's panel manually.

"You should at least try to look alive when someone 'faces you. Cheer up, you're a grown mech now. But you better not tell anyone about this. People do it all the time, but they don't talk about it. It's frowned upon to spread your legs for mechs, you slut. Only little bitches take it in the valve."

Barricade nodded mechanically and got up to leave, stiffening when he could feel the inside of his panel go wet, servo instinctively coming down to stop the leaking, but whatever it was didn't leak out. His stepsire smirked and handed him the bottle of Engex, and the Saleen grabbed it with numb servos.

"Remember: it's our little secret. Now go clean up."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath after non-con, and implications of another assault.

The Interceptor headed for the washracks, feeling strangely numb. Barricade set the bottle on the sink, staring at it indecisively while waiting for the solvent to get hot enough. He didn't dare having a taste — he'd gotten it from the bastard, after all, and he didn't really want it because of that. 

He got under the spray, and vigorously cleaned his plating with scorching hot solvent, feeling filthy in a way he couldn't quite explain, trying to process what had just happened. The components behind his panel felt sticky, and sore, and it was such a disgusting reminder of the things he'd rather forget.

Finding the interface protocols took a while, and required a skim through of the manual, but eventually, he managed to open his panel. Barricade bent forward to have a look, just to find a thick liquid oozing out of the opening of his valve. _His valve, where the bastard spike had stuck his spike._

_The glop was mixed with energon_. Scared, the Saleen started sobbing, letting the pelting solvent drown the sounds as he sank to the floor, curling up against the wall, wrapping his arms around his helm in an attempt to comfort himself. 

_The manual said nothing about this filthy feeling, or the pain. Just how the components worked, and how to use them. A cold, and clinical description of function, and technical specifications that left out how awful it felt to use them._

Barricade sat there for a very long time, sobbing into his knees, before he gathered enough composure to actually start cleaning himself down there. Spreading his legs — unable to bring himself to get up from the floor — he grabbed the sponge and scrubbed until he felt raw. Eventually he was forced to realize that he wouldn't feel clean, no matter how thoroughly he washed himself, so after quickly drying up, Barricade grabbed the bottle and headed for his room.

After some hesitation, he tasted the Engex. It tasted horrible, but the effect went straight to his helm, and the numb fuzziness was very welcome. He took a few more deep swigs, and then a few more, then he stretched out on his berth, dizzy and tired.

Sipping it to keep the buzz going, he slowly got more and more drunk. By the time his step-sire slipped into his room, he was too out of it to even lift his helm, and so he hardly moved when the mech ran his fingers over Barricade's panel, even if he wanted the mech to just go away and leave him alone. 

There was a click of a latch, and then the cool air brushed his array. The Interceptor squirmed weakly, but a servo on his hip pressed him deeper into the worn mattress, and he stilled, too tired to resist more. Digits slipped through his folds, making something low in his stomach twitch in response, and suddenly, Barricade was thankful for his drunken stupor. _What the mech was doing hardly seemed to matter at the moment. _Then his step-sire climbed on top of him and nudged his legs apart again.


	7. Chapter 7

It took quite some time before his carrier noticed. It wasn't that Barricade had started liking it, and wanted it, but he was helpless to do anything about it, and so he just went along with his step-sire's wishes. The Saleen knew that his step-sire would beat him if he didn't obey, and as awful as letting the mech touch his frame was, the beatings were much worse. And he often got some Engex as a reward afterwards, so he could always forget it for a while, unlike after a beating, when he was left in pain, and forced to try to cover the dents for days. The best times were when he got the Engex _before_, so he didn't need to be all that aware of what was going on. Trying to defend himself was futile, he was too small, and too weak.

His carrier came home early from work one day to find Barricade bent over the couch, his step-sire fragging him from behind. _He really hated it, that intense feeling of bending over of his own accord to let the mech have him, as if he wanted this. The way his step-sire groped his aft and shoulder-wings — not for Barricade's pleasure, but for his own._

It was far from the first time the mech had waited for him when he got home from school, already charged up and ready to go, having spent the day watching porn for "inspiration", while waiting for his juicy little piece of youngling to get home.

But this time, they were caught. One second, he was bracing his arms against the backrest, waiting for the gross mech behind him to finish and let him slip into the shower to clean up, the next, his carrier stepped through the door to find the illicit scene. Barricade had never seen his carrier so _angry_. He threw things at Barricade's step-sire, yelling and screaming. 

For once, his step-sire didn't go on the offensive to deal with the attack. He dodged, and held his servos up to deflect the barrage of anything of a reasonable size to throw, stumbling around the furniture to get away.

"I'm not the only one to blame here!" His step-sire yelled back. "Barricade isn't exactly innocent in this. I mean, look at him: he keeps clean and fairly polished. Unlike you."

"Because I fragging_ work_ in a _factory_! I fix up for my days off, isn't that good enough?! There's not much point to primp myself when I barely have time to refuel and recharge before the next shift."

"Well, he's _inviting_. You always have 'a helm-ache', or 'gestation cramps', or are 'too tired after work.' He's _always_ willing to crawl into my lap to get some cock."

His carrier made an incoherent noise of outrage, throwing an empty bottle at the other mech. Then he turned to Barricade, who stood frozen by the couch, not having moved more than straightening from his pose. His carrier looked down to his still open panel, thighs slick with lubricant and pre-transfluid, and made a face of disgust and anger. "_You,_ you slagging _slut!_ _Of course_ you couldn't keep your legs closed and your panel shut now that you've been upgraded! _Of course_ you had to frag _my_ mech at the first opportunity!" His carrier snarled at him, slapping him across the cheek, before going back to throwing things at his step-sire.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone jumping in right here to avoid the child abuse: this chapter is the last of Barricade childhood, as I accidentally added a chapter before, but there's nothing graphic here, and it's on a lighter note, with hope for the future.

The sirens wailed in the distance — as usual when his step-sire and carrier got into one of their many fights — and then the Enforcers barged in, the door nearly flying off it's hinges. Barricade still stood frozen on the spot, panel still open, uncertain what to do as he stared at his carrier tearing his step-sire a new one, his step-sire blaming Barricade and his carrier for it all, the Enforcers stomping in...

"Hey, mech. Are you alright?" An Enforcer asked him softly, snapping him out of his stupor.

"I-I.." _Was he?_ "I don't know." He said numbly.

"First of all, let's get you covered up." The Enforcer said and grabbed the tattered blanket from the couch, wrapping it around Barricade's hips to cover his array.

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome. Now, I know that this is going to be hard, but I need your statement so that we finally can put that aft away. This isn't your doing you know, and you have nothing to fear or be ashamed of. Let us help you. Let's go somewhere more quiet."

Barricade followed the Enforcer outside, away from the ruckus of other Enforcers breaking up the fight still going on. He gratefully took the energon bar the Enforcer pulled from his subspace, and the cop sat down on the rickety couch on the porch with him, softly asking Barricade questions. 

The Saleen watched as his step-sire and carrier were dragged outside to the transport in cuffs, his carrier still shouting insults, but now he had turned his ire towards the Enforcers. His step-sire glared dangerously at Barricade, a clear warning to shut up, and the Mustang averted his optics, spark speeding up with fear.

_Could he really do this? Should he say more than he already had said? Or would his step-sire get back at him, and he'd have hell to pay for being a snitch?_

"Don't mind them. You're the important one here. If you let us help you, that mech is going to be put away, and you will be safe." The Enforcer said, pulling Barricade's attention from his step-sire.

_If he didn't say anything, everything would go back to the way it was. Or worse. He had to speak up. They said that they would keep him safe, that his step-sire would be put away._

The questions continued, and the Enforcer was very supportive — letting the young mech take his time, encouraging him, and when he needed it, soothed him — as everything Barricade had been through poured out of his vocalizer in a sometimes disjointed tale of various types of neglect and abuse. 

They arranged housing for him, while his step-sire was arrested. _This time, he wouldn't make excuses, or tell them lies. _

Afterwards, Barricade knew without a doubt what he was going to be when he was fully grown. He wasn't going to be helpless again, he was going to help others in his position, mechs who couldn't help themselves.

He was going to be an Enforcer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're now a few years out of Barricade's childhood, and he did indeed become an Enforcer. So far, he has kept on the straight and narrow, but... Temptation.

The first time he did it, it was such a rush of being in control in a way he'd never been before.

The pleasurebot Barricade was frisking suddenly broke down when the Enforcer found a small bag of boosters in his subspace. It caught the Saleen off guard when the mech started crying, field roiling with fear and despair. It wasn't what usually happened when they brought someone in: hardened criminals just sneered and went stone faced, ready to do their time if their lawyers didn't manage to snivel them out of long sentences. And the other petty crimes he had brought mechs in for had never made them react quite like this. Being upset and protesting, sure, but crying in panic? No, definite first time. He couldn't help but feel bad for the mech.

"_Please_, don't take me in for this! I'm not _selling,_ I just need a little something to get through the day, 'k? I've already been sentenced twice, this would be my third stike. I'll go away for years, and I _never_ have more than this!" He cried. "Please, Officer, don't report this. I'll do _anything!_"

_He shouldn't listen. If the mech was going away for a long time, that was his own fault. The mech shouldn't be using, and he shouldn't be selling his frame either. But a third strike sentence... it _would_ be a very harsh punishment for such a small amount of drugs, it was obvious that the mech wouldn't be selling what little he had, it was nowhere near enough. Most of the mechs in this area were just trying to scrape enough together to get by day to day, and to numb themselves when the day was over._

"Anything?" Barricade's processor was working in overdrive.

_But what could _this_ mech give him? The booster-helm had _nothing_. What could he possibly ask for, that would be worth the risk he would be taking, and wouldn't be too cheap a price for a favor like that?_

"Why, yes, Officer. _Anything!_" The mech purred, slipping into his pleasurebot persona, stroking Barricade's pelvic plating with deft digits tracing the seams of his interface plate. Barricade's intakes hitched, because he wasn't prepared for that kind of touch, but his spike twitched with interest behind the cover. "You look like you need to blow off some steam, Officer, look awfully tense. Why don't you let me take care of that, let me show you a good time, and release some of that stress?"


	10. Chapter 10

He really shouldn't_. _

_But he would be doing the mech a favor, saving him from going to prison for half his functioning for just holding a negligible amount of boosters. Drugs that only served to numb the mech from his position in life. Right? He'd do the justice system a favor too, leaving a cell in prison open for one of the really bad criminals, one of those who _did_ deserve that really long sentence. Right?_

_And__ there was something intensely arousing about knowing that he _could_ send this mech away for a long time, and that he could also choose to let it slip, a heady sense of being powerful, and in control. It was all up to him. He was judge and jury. _Behind his panel, his spike throbbed with a level of arousal he'd never felt before.

"I'm taking this," he said, holding up the bag of boosters, "and how about a blowjob? Then I'll let it go for this time."

The mech's face fell momentarily when Barricade said that he'd confiscate the drugs, but he composed himself quickly. 

"Of course, Officer." He purred, sinking to his knees, keeping optic contact, giving Barricade a sultry smile. 

Barricade opened his interface plate, spike pressurizing immediately, and the mech sucked it right into his intake without a second's hesitation. The Interceptor leaned his back against the wall, staring down at the bobbing helm, and put a servo on the back of the pleasurebot's helm to push in deeper.

"Ah, yeah, just like that..." He groaned, so very close already.

He had never felt more powerful in his entire life. _The mechs future was in his servos, he could get the mech to do this by just saying so. It was forbidden, and oh, so arousing, downright addictive._

He came, hilting himself in the mech's intake, feeling the protesting twitches of the whore's throat tubing, and Barricade's optics flickered with the sheer power of his overload. The mech swallowed, and then he stood as Barricade depressurized his spike and closed his panel.

"You're free to go, but don't let me catch you with more drugs."

"Thank you, Officer, that's so kind of you!" The mech gushed and hurried off.

It was a good thing that most of the shift was over, because it didn't take long for Barricade to be aroused again, that power intoxicating. As soon as he got home, he stepped into the washracks to rub one out, thinking about that intake wrapped around his spike, the pleasurebot's future in his servos.


	11. Chapter 11

It got easier for every time, no more doubts or regrets if he really should, if he'd done the right thing. No more questioning himself what the fuck he was doing. The mechs avoided to go to prison for an extended time for petty crimes, and Barricade got off, or other things he wanted. In the beginning, he always flushed the drugs he seized, but being a cop was stressful. The astro-weed and the routers were nice. He tried boosters twice, and once he did syk, but he didn't like those, didn't like the nervous, twitchy energy. _He just needed to chill out, to relax, not crawl up the walls._

He was getting well known among the hookers, and the dealers in the area he patrolled when command suddenly decided that he should have a patrol partner. Barricade wasn't thrilled, because he didn't feel like sharing, but apparently, command thought that he needed help, because the rate of apprehensions had fallen too much. _He needed to be more careful._

His new partner turned out to be such a stickler, exactly the type of mech Barricade didn't want as a partner. On the upside, Prowl would never want a cut, so it was still all Barricade when it came to making deals. On the downside, it made it very hard for Barricade to do his thing, because Prowl certainly would not approve and see between his digits with it. Barricade managed to implement that they went to deal with things one on one — stating that since he knew the locals, they were more inclined to open up and talk to him — but if he was too slow, Prowl may very well come and check on him, to make sure he didn't need back up. 

This also mean that Barricade sometimes was forced to bring mechs in when he normally wouldn't have, or it would look strange that Prowl made all the arrests, and Barricade none. He kept to bringing in the ones not on third strike, though — to keep on the right side with the mechs he knew, and to keep earning the favors he liked so much, and not make someone thinking about snitching him out — but sometimes, he had to make deals to come back to collect the payment after his shift, incredibly annoying, and sometimes a hassle, since it meant he had to track the mechs down again before getting what he wanted.


	12. Chapter 12

"Why, hello, Cade." The Polyhexian purred when Barricade rounded the corner. The Solstice was sitting on top of a dumpster, pedes dangling lazily over the side, leaning back on his servos to show of his bumper.

"Don't call me that." He hissed. "It's either Officer or, if I'm off duty, Barricade."

"Sorry." Jazz smirked, entirely unapologetic. "Stressful day?"

"Still got that stickler of a partner riding herd on me."

The Polyhexian pouted. "I thought I was goin' ta ride ya."

Barricade grabbed his hips and pulled him close, stealing a kiss, servo sneaking down between Jazz's legs to cop a feel of the panel he just wanted to get out of the way. "Later. I'll be by after shift." He mumbled against Jazz's lip-plates.

"Mhm, I sure hope so. Oh, n' I have some stress-relief for ya." Jazz drawled with a smirk, holding up a bag of astro-weed. "I know ya're stressin' out over that Prowl dude.

"I don't think I can take that right now. I don't know, sometimes I get the feeling that my _lovely_ _partner_ is scanning my subspace." Barricade grimaced, staring longingly at the weed.

"Well, if ya bend over, I could insert it somewhere I think he _won't_ look..." Jazz murmured suggestively, servo sliding down to grope the Saleen's aft, a digit rubbing the panel covering his port.

"Pit no!" Barricade hissed, backing away with a shudder. _Not stooping to that level._

"Just sayin'..." Jazz shrugged. "Anyway, see ya later then."

Barricade eyed the bag still dangling in Jazz's servo. "Give me that. I'm sure he can't scan my deepest pockets, and I really need something to silver line my energon break."

Jazz smirked and handed it to him, blowing the Interceptor a kiss.

Barricade stuffed the bag into his subspace pocket and hurried back to the cruiser transport, spark feeling lighter. 

Sure, Jazz was still a pleasurebot with a minor drug problem, but Barricade didn't really care. Jazz was _different_. Jazz was a mech he wanted to get away from the streets. He often spent the night with Jazz, and they actually spent some of their time together _not_ fucking. Like sprawling on the berth, watching movies in whatever motel room Jazz was staying in for the night. When he thought about it more thoroughly, Barricade could admit to himself that he may want even more than that with Jazz.

Little did he know that he wouldn't come by later, that he wouldn't get the chance to have anything at all for quite some time.


	13. Chapter 13

The shift was finally over, and they got back to the station, Barricade eager to get rid of his annoying partner._ Why did they have to get him a partner? He was doing just fine on his own. And if he absolutely, necessarily had to have a partner, why did he have to get _Prowl_? They were completely incompatible._ _At least the mech didn't insist on them hanging out in their spare time too, like some Enforcer duos did_. No, he left Barricade well enough alone as soon as they were off the clock, and the Interceptor was thankful for not being forced to constantly come up with lame excuses.

So, when their superior Officer called them into the interrogation room, Barricade was not at all worried, but twice as annoyed by it.

_He was looking forward to go see Jazz — to get high, and get laid, and just kick back — after a long day at work, trudging through awkward silences and stunted attempts at conversation with his rather bland partner. He did not want any extra hours, not even for the extra credits it would bring. It just wasn't worth it._

"Have a seat." Their boss said to the Saleen, pointing at the seat the suspects usually sat in. 

Barricade raised an optical ridge, but still took the seat, leaning back and crossing his arms in nonchalant annoyance when his Commander, and his partner took the seats normally occupied by the interrogating officers or detectives. _Enough was enough. He was not going to sit there and be deferential in his spare time._

"What's this about? Some of us have _lives_ outside of work, you know." He said snarkily. _Lives, and sweet little Polyhexians with willing valves, and eager mouths waiting, a cygar of astro-weed, and a cube of high grade probably already waiting for him on the bedside when he stepped through the door. Jazz was so good at catering to his needs._

"This is about our code of conduct. You know, the one you're _not_ following. Along with a list of laws you are breaking on a regular basis." Their boss said, folding his arms as he stared the Interceptor down.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Barricade growled, insulted by the insinuation — even as his spark was speeding up with nerves._ What had they heard?_

"It means that we know that you're corrupt. That you systematically take bribes in return for letting criminals run free, instead of arresting them as you should. That's one of the violations of the policy, as well the first on the long list of your crimes."


	14. Chapter 14

Barricade's spark went cold.

"That's a _lie!_ I'm _not_ in anyones pocket." 

_Technically, it was true. No mech paid him off on a regular basis to make him consistently look the other way. It wasn't like he was dealing with the mobsters to make evidence disappear it anything like that. He just traded a favor for a favor now and then._

"Spare us the excuses," Prowl said flatly, "you may not be involved with the big gearfish out there, may not deal with the mobs or the gangs, but we _do_ know that you see between your digits on a whole lot of misdemeanors and petty crimes, and you get paid in kind for it." His partner sounded disgusted.

"This," their boss said, taking out a box Barricade recognized all too well, his spark plummeting, "was what the hounds sniffed out in your apartment. The amount of astro-weed alone is a felony, not to talk about these heavy routers." He poured a handful of re-routing chips onto the table to ram home the point.

"My _apartment?!"_ Barricade asked stupidly, because even if he knew in his spark that the box they had confiscated had indeed been in his apartment this morning, he still didn't want to comprehend that they had found it. _They couldn't just go searching his dwelling like that, could they? That had to be against some sort of protocol, right?_

"We had a warrant, and the search was legit," Prowl told him, as if he knew what Barricade was thinking, "so as evidence, that'll hold up in court."

_Frag, frag, frag..._

"Before we proceed any further, you need to take a drug test. We need to know if you've been under influence at work too." His Commander said, holding out a cup for him. "I guess you know how this goes, but: go through that door, waste fluid in this cup, leave it on the counter in there for the analysts." He added, pointing to the adjacent room.

Barricade slowly took the cup, knowing what the test would show, and that he had no way of leaving a fake one. _So fucking stupid to not have a contingency plan._

Numbly, he walked into the maintenance room specifically placed there for this, a room he had followed numerous suspects before, but this time he was the one being followed. By _Prowl_. His own partner.


	15. Chapter 15

The Mustang did what he had to, trying his best to ignore Prowl standing by the door, waiting for him to finish. _Watching him take a drug test that he knew would not come back clean_. Then he left the cup on the counter, and followed the other Praxian back to the interrogation room with increasingly heavy steps.

"Empty your subspace, please."

_Dammit!_

With slow movements, digits feeling numb and clumsy, he started pulling everything out, placing it on the table. There wasn't much, because he didn't like toting too many things around, but Barricade flushed when he pulled the packet of jimmys out. He ignored the bag of weed that suddenly seemed to weigh more than the average minibot. _Surely, they wouldn't search him?_

"If that evidence isn't enough," the Commander said, pointing at the confiscated box of drugs, "we have a few recordings..." 

_Of course they would have recordings..._

"You didn't get everything from your subspace." Prowl interrupted.

"Yeah, I did." Barricade sneered, fuel pump hammering.

"No, you did not. I have specialized sensor suites, far more sensitive than is standard. There's something left in your subspace. The pocket on your side."

It would probably be easier to pull his denta out than that bag, but he did, tossing it to land on the table with a muffled thud. Barricade almost started cackling hysterically. _Something that hammered another nail into his coffin should be louder, shouldn't it?_

The Superior Officer and Prowl stared at the bag for long seconds, and Barricade just wanted to cry. 

"Right, the recorded evidence." The Commander snapped out of his surprise, and pointed to a screen on the wall. 

It flickered to life, showing footage of Barricade and one of the many pleasurebots he was acquainted to. 

_He was even wearing his Primus damned badge, so he was on duty when he frisked the mech, servos lingering between the streetwalker's legs, on his chest-plates_. On the screen, Barricade pulled a bag of powder from the pleasurebot's subspace.

_"I swear, Officer, I'm not selling! Please, just take it, I don't need it."_

_"What else can you provide as payment for my inconvenient need to stay silent?" Barricade asked, pawing his own interface panel._

_As answer, the pleasurebot turned around, bracing his arms against the wall, arching his back. Barricade pulled down the flimsy fabric hotpants — _a lot of the local pleasuremechs had taken to using those instead of interface plating, a custom adopted from the higher end bordellos of Iacon, and Vos. And mech, did he like those thin coverings, revealing most of the merchandise? The power he felt when he tugged them down without the mech protesting..._ — on the screen, he manually pushed his own panel to the side, his spike pressurizing. Then he stepped up behind the mech and thrust inside, rutting without finesse, chasing his own overload._


	16. Chapter 16

In any other setting, just thinking about that kind of interfacing — the glorious power rush he felt whenever he took what he wanted, had a mech completely at his mercy, obeying his every whim — would've had his spike knocking on his panel, and he probably would've had to jerk off before he could do anything else.

But there — in the interrogation room, with the screen playing piece after piece of incriminating evidence of his well documented corruption — his spike wasn't interested at all. All the Interceptor could feel was growing terror. 

_He was going to prison. They knew, knew it all, and he hadn't realized they did, hadn't even considered that what he was doing could so easily land him in a steaming pile of waste..._

He slowly turned to Prowl. "You set me up. You turned me in. We were supposed to be _partners_, we were supposed to have each others' backs." He said, voice hoarse with emotions. 

_He felt so fucking betrayed, even if he had realized early on that Prowl wasn't the type of mech who would indulge in anything outside the regular agenda. He never thought the mech would be capable of doing this._

"Actually, I'm from internal affairs. We received numerous complaints about an Officer interfacing in public in broad daylight. With known prostitutes. A few concerned citizens spoke of an Officer taking drugs without making arrests. Or maybe it was the prostitutes who just got tired of having their drugs confiscated just because you're too cheap to pay for it yourself, and dropped an anonymous tip to get rid of you? You're despicable, a disgrace to this profession, and the force is better off without you. Good riddance." Prowl retorted coldly.

"Our system is _flawed._ Putting mechs away for half their life, just because they keep a little stash for recreational use, for a little escape from reality, is unreasonably harsh." Barricade defended his choices. _Why fill the prisons with petty stuff like that, while the top dogs always got away with murder? He did everyone a favor._

"I guess you would think so. This probably should be counted as your tenth strike if you had been caught every time, considering all the occasions you've broken laws on. But it's not _our_ jobs to judge, nor to rewrite laws as we see fit. All we need to do is enforce them, and you failed spectacularly at that. But it doesn't matter anymore. You will go away for a very long time, and you will never serve law enforcement ever again."

_As bitter as it tasted, he knew that they were right. Frag his functioning, he was so screwed._


	17. Chapter 17

The trial was a quick affair; with all the evidence piled high, a verdict was delivered, and Barricade was sent off to prison in under an hour. In the transport, some of the other inmates threw glances his way, and he didn't like the way they looked at him. He sank deeper into his seat, well aware of his paint job. Even with all the markings of rank stripped, he might as well have a bullseye painted on his back.

_He just needed to make it until he was repainted in prison orange, then he could blend in, right? Unless his reputation superseded him. Or they got him before he even was repainted._

Barricade cringed thinking about himself in garish prison orange, in spite of logically knowing that it would be the least of his problems. He exited last, to not leave his back to the other to-be prisoners, and they were herded into booking by a small army of guards.

"Open your panels, and all your subspace pockets." A guard barked an order.

Several other guards came in to take over the process of booking the new inmates, and Barricade, last in line, did his best to not watch what they were doing, even if it was out of horrified curiosity. _Staring at his fellow inmates when they were exposed like that certainly wouldn't be a good way to make friends._ Then a rather big mech, probably Kaonite, stepped up to him. Servos dug into his pockets, felt around under his flared plating, and Barricade shuddered under the touch, cringing away from the rather invasive search.

"Open your intake."

He did, allowing the guard to check that he hadn't hidden something in his mouth.

"Squat and exvent hard." 

_It was utterly humiliating_. He sank down slowly, nauseated of having to do this with others watching, and then he made that hard exvent. _He knew the procedure from his job, and logically, he knew that this was just another day at work for the guards, but actually going through it himself was still more humiliating than he ever thought it would be._

"Waste fluid sample." The guard said, holding out a cup.

"Right here?!"

"Yes. Do it over the drain, try not to spill, and if you don't like it, you shouldn't have committed the crime in the first place."


	18. Chapter 18

The Saleen moved over the drain and squatted over the cup, cursing that he had never gotten around to install that maintenance hose that would've made this much less awkward. It took a while for him to get the nozzle to cooperate and open, because it wasn't easy to go when it felt like everyone was staring. In reality, nobot really cared, it was just any other day at work, and the other inmates were busy with their own procedures, but Barricade still failed to convince his processor about that. Eventually, he managed to squeeze some fluid out, and put the cup on the cart the onsite medic pushed past them.

"Go to the reception over there. They'll sign you in." The guard said, pointing to the desk.

Barricade obeyed, the guard just a few steps behind him, and he waited in the line of inmates. There were a couple of bots that looked really nervous, and Barricade could relate. _Probably first timers. Like him._ A big, red mech with etchings all over his plating stared at him for long moments, crossing his arms and cocking his helm in consideration, and the Mustang had to fight the urge to squirm under the unreadable mech's gaze. 

_Should he stare back defiantly, and show that he wasn't afraid and didn't take any slag, or should he look away to avoid provoking the mech and risk showing weakness? He knew some hand to hand combat from work, but the bot was massive, and he didn't know the skillset of his adversary. Or if the mech had friends waiting inside._

He feigned to get distracted when an unusually small minibot with an annoying voice was ushered forward to join the others who were already being moved along from the booking area.

"Bracelet, please." The guard behind the counter told him.

Barricade held his arm up, and the mech scanned the bracelet he'd gotten when placed in holding, awaiting his trial.

"Designation: Barricade. Do you want me to put you in solitary?"

"Solitary?" He stared dumbly at the bot, resetting all his optics. _Why would he _want_ to go to solitary? Wasn't that for the really dangerous mechs? And wasn't isolation a punishment on top of the regular punishment._

"Considering your... _former profession_, we have a policy to ask. It would be for your own safety. If you're not friends with the right people, we cannot guarantee your safety. We do our best, but mechs can be very inventive. Ex-Enforcers tend to not last long here."


	19. Chapter 19

The reminder of his status as en _ex-_Enforcer left a sour taste in his intake, but it was a valid point. He never worked with the shot callers, or any other high ranking criminals, so he'd probably be fucked in general population. _Literally._ It still felt like a defeat to be forced to be put in solitary for his own protection.

"Solitary, please." He mumbled, not looking forward to be isolated for the years to come, locked up in a tiny cell with nothing to do, and nobody to talk to. 

_As if he deserved an even harsher punishment than what he had already been dealt. Just because he wasn't just any criminal, like everyone else in here, but a former Enforcer. And nobody cares that he was in here because he had helped other criminals. The very unsweet irony..._

The inmate collar was handed over to the guard waiting behind him, and snapped in place around his neck, the electrodes digging into the wiring in his neck in an uncomfortable way. The sound of the lock on the collar engaging was like a gunshot to his audials, _He was well and truly an inmate now. He'd be there for years. _Barricade pushed down the urge to cry. _Showing weakness would not benefit him in any way, even if he was going to solitary._

The guard led him away, following the hallway between two recreational areas, and he watched the inmates on both sides, most of them gathered closer to the bars to look at the newcomers. Someone catcalled as they passed. 

"New plating incoming!"

"Look at that sweet piece of aft."

"Hey Mohawk, you want to be my conjux for the stay?!" Someone shouted from behind the bars.

"How about you be my _glitch_ instead, Warp?!" The small mech with spikes on his helm called back, strutting down the isle with a confidence that seemed way over the top for someone so small.

There were "oohs," and raucous laughter among the crowd as the bickering between the two continued, the mech with the spiky helm pushed into the rec area to be greeted like a long lost friend by the mech he was trading insults with.

_So much politics, so many who knew each other. Did he know someone in here, maybe someone he'd helped at one point? Would it even matter? They were just junkies and prostitutes, hardly a crowd to mingle with to stay safe. If they'd even want to be friends with him. Solitary was the best option._


	20. Chapter 20

The nervous looking bot in front of Barricade shied away when one mech pressed up against the bars, staring with a bright visor, glossa flicking lewdly. 

"Hello, pretty. How about I fuck your face tonight, and you'll survive to see tomorrow." The Rotary mech purred.

"Knock it off, Vortex." One of the guards barked.

"I'm just welcoming the new glitches. Can't fault a mech for flirting with such a pretty little thing..." The Helo said, raising his servos in a placating gesture.

"One more threatening comment, and you're going back to solitary."

"I was _flirting! _If I wanted to be _threatening_, I'd tell him what I'll do if I _don't_ get to fuck his face."

"That's it. You're back in the hole."

"Fine! My friends in there have probably missed me anyway. They really like my stories..." The mech trailed off with a giggle, looking decidedly unhinged. "I usually tell them about how nice it feels when a mech's energon is dripping down my servos. Gets me so hard, I have to jerk off every time."

Barricade felt a chill travel down his back-struts when the mech's field grazed his, a roilling morass of sadism and arousal.

"Yo, Sides! My mech!" The big silver Flier with one optic who came on the same transport as Barricade shouted, moving on in the directed pace until the guards pushed him into the general area. 

Another mech — slightly shorter, and already painted in the hideous prison orange — stepped up and grabbed the Flier's servo, pulling him in for the most mechly hug Barricade had ever seen. The resident criminal led the newcomer to a table crowded by a several other massive mechs. Even through the prison orange paint, Barricade could see that their chests were adorned with badges matching what the Flier had on his chest-plates: a serious looking face Barricade had seen back in the academy, when they were taking a course in organized crime. _A gang badge._ He couldn't stifle a shudder. 

_Solitary certainly wasn't looking so bad after all._


	21. Chapter 21

"Hey, check this out! We got the _law_ in the house!" Someone called out, and everyone turned to stare at Barricade. 

"The new prison transport!" The Helicopter who just hassled one of the other new inmates shouted, and everyone started cackling.

"Do you know why we call you that?" A mech close to the bars asked him, smirking.

Barricade shook his helm as he came to a stop, transfixed by the mechs reaching out to him with nothing but ill intent..

"Because eventually, _everyone_ will have taken you for long, hard ride that's not appreciated by everyone involved." The Helicopter drawled, humping the air in front of him with short, hard thrusts. It seemed like everyone joined in on the howl of laughter that followed. "You'll be able to take two Triple changers when we're done with you, _copper._" The mech's manic smirk turned into a nasty sneer. "Because for as bad as we are, you're _worse._ The lowest of the low. How many mechs in here were put away by _you?_ Bet they want som payment for their suffering. That little aft of yours look like a sweet start..."

The cloying EM fields clinging to his plating slowly morphed from sadistic amusement into something dangerous, something hungry and malicious, biding the time for a shot at degrading and hurting him.

The Saleen wasn't a pushover, not by a long shot. He wasn't stupid either, and with all these mechs seeing him as prey, he wouldn't stand a chance, not even for a day. Even with a new paintjob, it was just a matter of time before they recognized him, and they would come for him. Solitary would be a way to survive. Maybe he'd be able to get out of there eventually, when he had been orange long enough for them to forget his original paintjob. Long enough for a lot of these mechs to have been released already, or moved to different facilities. Long enough for him to become just one of the inmates instead of the ex-Enforcer, a mech other Enforcers looked down on with contempt, and so did the criminals.

_Long enough for him to no longer identify with the function he once defined himself by._


	22. Chapter 22

One of the guards pushed him forward, out of patience with the interactions. "Move, you're going to AdSeg. Stop loitering. If you stand around here all day and speak with them, then you don't need to be in solitary."

"Aaw, come on now! Don't go already! We just need something pretty to look at! We'll take care of him, make him our sweet little bitch. I promise! Let him in here, we're just going to pet his helm, and test the specifications of his intake." The Helo whined to the guard as Barricade was shoved forward.

"What is it with you and face fucking, Tex?" One of the many orange mechs asked.

"I dunno. I just like it when they look up at me, all adoringly, with their mouths around my cock. Don't complain, you can still have his port while he's sucking my dick, you know, like the last little bitch I had. Mech, was he sweet and obedient when I had broken him in properly."

"True that. Aren't you afraid of biters?"

"Nah, I just break their denta if they're too feisty." The Helicopter said offhandedly. "Hey, you _coward!_ Come back here and take it like a mech!" He yelled after Barricade.

_AdSeg it was._

Barricade allowed the guard to steer him away from the raucous crowd, through the heavy doors into the AdSeg ward. When ordered to, he stepped into the cell, the door slamming shut behind him.The Interceptor looked around the small cubicle, and his spark dropped. _A hard berth, a floor drain, and nothing else._ With a sigh, he settled on the berth, stretching out to stare at the ceiling, painted in the same sickly beige-green as the rest of the room. _So this was his functioning now. _He offlined his optics and tried to slip into recharge, because what else could he do? 

_Except let his despair overtake him completely._


	23. Chapter 23

He stayed like that for a long time, slipping in and out of recharge, haunted by nightmares of what would happen to him if he was put in genpop, of things he had been through before that he had repressed. And when he was awake, he thought a lot about the things he did that landed him in this mess.

_He could've avoided this, could still have been an Enforcer, with a job to go to every day. Maybe even have something more with Jazz by now, with the pretty Polyhexian sleeping in his berth every night, wishing him a good morning in that sexy, sleep rough voice of his when Barricade was off to work... _He ruthlessly squashed that line of thought, because it was all too depressing. 

And it got him wondering about Jazz._ Was he ok, where was he, why hadn't he shown up to visit... _Another line of thought that he killed in cold blood, but the trembling dread in his spark remained.

The monotony was only broken by the guards delivering energon, and the trips to the washracks. At one point, they took him out to paint him in prison orange, and Barricade spent the remainder of that day cringing at the horrible color, because it was easier to focus on such an inane topic. He had no mirror to see how it looked on his face and wings, and that was both annoying and a relief. There was a medical check-up somewhere along the way, performed by a disinterested medic with uncareful servos, and he left it feeling depersonized and vaguely violated.

With his new colors in place, he was offered to spend time outside his cell, a scheduled hour every other day when he was allowed to sit alone in their version of a recreational area, but it didn't differ much from his cell, except for being more roomy. He could speak to the other inmates through their cell doors, but he didn't want to make friends with the type of mechs who were in there. 

Barricade lost track of time as the weeks passed since his chronometer was disabled, there were no windows that showed the outside, and the lights of the area outside his cell, and inside his cell too weren't any help to keep track of the days, as they weren't even turned off for the night, making it impossible to know if he recharged a day away.


	24. Chapter 24

"Got a visitor, Barricade." A guard called out, banging on the cell door, waking Barricade from his fitful slumber.

The Interceptor sat up. _A visitor?_ He found himself getting excited far beyond what he had been in a long time. _A mech wanted to see him?!_ Nobdy had come by before, none of his former friends and colleagues. His friends from before he went to the Enforcer academy, he had long lost contact with, and the one's from the academy, and from work either didn't know that he had been put away, or hadn't bothered visiting the corrupt Enforcer. Deep down, he suspected the latter, but Barricade preferred to blame the first reason, because it was much less painful to think they just didn't know, than to think that they had cut him out of their lives.

They didn't bother to cuff him when he was led down the hallway, because he wasn't in solitary for being considered dangerous, and was an unusually cooperative inmate. He walked in front of the guard, following the directions to the visitors area, sitting down at the appointed booth. A thick panel of glass separated him from Jazz, the Polyhexian such a sight for sore optics, the Interceptor almost started sobbing in relief. Barricade wished that he could touch him, could nuzzle him to take in the scent of tangy polish and sweet astro-weed smoke that was Jazz, but all he could do was splay his servo against the glass, finding that it blocked their EM fields, and pick up the comm headset.

"Hi. Ya never showed up that night." Jazz said, splaying his servo on the other side of the glass. "I didn' know where ya went. Took me a lotta work ta find out."

"I never got a chance to contact you." Barricade answered apologetically, drinking in the sight of the familiar mech. _They had never exchanged comms for some reason, and after his arrest, he'd had no way of finding Jazz. _"I've missed you so much."

"I missed ya too." 

They lapsed into silence, Barricade not knowing what to say. _It wasn't like his life was very eventful nowadays, and he had a very long time left before he'd get out. And he was so relieved just seeing a familiar face — a friendly one — he just wanted to cling to the moment and look at the Polyhexian, memorizing his pretty face-plates._

"That color is..."

"I know. I really don't like it." 

"Sorry, babe, but ya look like shit." Jazz smirked, but it was a sad smirk, lacking the humor he was trying to put into it.

"Yeah." Barricade said, appreciating the attempt at levity anyway, even if it was bittersweet in a way that left a lump in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the second time in half a year, I had to very suddenly let one of my dogs go yesterday. It's too much right now, so I'm going to go on hiatus over the weekend and start up posting again sometime next week. I hope you all understand.


	25. Chapter 25

Jazz looked worn. He was skinnier than before — the fine plating of his face sunken, making his features look gaunt — and when Barricade looked carefully, he could see the dents and scrapes marring his plating. The Polyhexian had obviously tried to cover them up, but either they were fresh, or his self repair was lagging behind. His visor looked dull too, as if he was severely lacking recharge.

"You don't look so hot yourself. Are you using a lot? You look thin." 

_Jazz had never liked boosters, or Syk, but it wasn't impossible that his addictions had changed while Barricade was away. How many weeks had it been? 8? 21? More? Not enough, he wanted out now, wanted to wrap his arms around Jazz and just hold him, wanted to curl up in berth and just listen to Jazz's vents the entire night, and stay there for day's before bothering to get up._

Jazz shook his helm. "New crew has moved into tha territory. _Stuff_ is gettin' really expensive, and they're hasslin' us ta push us out, n' get their own merchandise on tha streets. I's gettin' hard ta make enough ta afford both housin' n' fuel, n' I prefer sleepin safely over refuelin'."

"They rough you up? Is that why you're dented?" Barricade asked, bristling at his own helplessness, feeling utterly useless for not being able to provide any kind of help for his... whatever Jazz was to him.

"Nah, I've managed ta keep away from that. A client invited a coupl'a friends," Jazz said with a grimace, distaste dripping from his voice, "n' it turned out they were into some rough stuff, and there was no negotiatin' tha terms." 

The implications were spark wrenching, and Barricade made a face of disgust and impotent anger. Jazz started sobbing.

"I need protection. I can't be on my own anymore, not tha way tha neighborhood is gettin' worse. Last week, some slagger..."Jazz broke off in the middle of the sentence, visibly fighting to repress whatever had happened to him last week. "Ya know what, it doesn' matter anyway. I'm still sore, n' I'm outta cash." 


	26. Chapter 26

Barricade's spark felt cold. _There was not a single thing he could do. He had years left of his sentence, didn't have any contacts outside prison. Not on the inside either._

"I wish I could do something." 

_Primus, he felt so fucking helpless. Jazz needed to get off the streets, just like he had wanted things to go before this mess. But alas, here he was; completely useless behind bars, while the opposite of getting Jazz off the streets was happening. _

"I'm gonna move, I think, find a new block or somethin'. If that doesn't work out, I don' know what ta do." Jazz said sadly.

Barricade understood him. If the Polyhexian was run out of the places where his customers could pick him up — as distasteful as _that_ thought was — Jazz would be out of business, and without the credits, he would be homeless, and would starve. _And here he was, stuck in solitary with no way of helping._

"Time's up." The guard called.

"I'll miss you." Barricade said hurriedly, with a dangerous amount of emotion leaking into his voice, hoping that Jazz would return soon.

"I'll miss ya too." 

Then Barricade was forced to go back to his cell, optics lingering on Jazz for as long as he could see him, rubbernecking to give himself a chance to memorize every line in the mech's face and frame, praying to a God he didn't believe in that it wouldn't be long before his lover would show up again. _It was the only thing he had to look forward to._

But weeks turned to months, and then to years, and Jazz never returned. The only thing Barricade could hope for was that he was still online and had just moved on. _To someone not stuck behind thick walls, someone who could keep Jazz warm at night._ Spending his days and nights alone, that thought wrenched his spark into a cold knot.

_He had lost the most important thing he ever had, and he hadn't even had the mental presence to fully appreciate it while he had it._


	27. Chapter 27

There's something to be said about showering. The first times he was taken to the washracks, it was the highlight of the week, or however long time passed between the occasions. Anything that got him out of the tiny, barren cell was a very good thing, and hot solvent running over his plating felt very luxurious, even if he was supervised while showering. _At least he never had to share the washracks with other prisoners, so dropping the solvent bottle wasn't much of a problem._

But then they got a new guard.

Barricade had seen him a couple of times during his rec time, but didn't think much of it. Personnel came and went, transferring between wards or other facilities, and it didn't matter much to the Saleen.

_Except the next time he had to shower._

"Come on, Barricade. Time to go to the washracks."

The Interceptor rose from his berth, walking past the mech towards the washracks. The cell door slammed shut behind them as he left, and the guard fell into step behind him, just like they always did when moving him somewhere. The door to the washracks slid open when they approached it, and Barricade walked straight to the showerhead, because the guards didn't like it when he stalled, and he wanted to get as much time under the solvent as possible. Without hesitation, Barricade opened his panels and flared his plating, letting the solvent run into every nook and cranny on his frame relishing the feeling of hot solvent loosing up the kinks in his cables.

He turned back and forth under the stream, rubbing solvent into his plating, and the cables and wires he could get at, but he froze on the spot, servo still between his legs, when he turned in the direction where the guard was standing, happening a glance at the mech.

_The mech was staring with bright optics, ogling him as he showered._

The other guards had always waited for him to get finished, keeping watch out of the corner of their optics, but this mech's optics were riveted to Barricade.

"What are you waiting for? Clean yourself, or you won't have time to finish." The mech said, voice hoarse as he stared at Barricade's servo still lingering between his legs.

Barricade forced himself to start moving again, turning his back to the guard to get some sense of privacy while cleaning his array.

"No. Turn back around. I want to make sure that you clean yourself thoroughly, and that you're not pulling contraband out of any parts of you."

_Like he could get any contraband when spending most of his time in his cell, and never having visitors._ He still obeyed, because he didn't want to be left with solvent to dry on his frame.

"Good mech. Be really thorough."

In spite of being in the shower, Barricade had rarely felt more filthy in his entire functioning. With stiff movements, he slipped his soap-slicked digits through the folds of his valve, opening the cover to his spike and extending it. Sliding his servo along it to get it clean did not feel good, not with a mech following his every movement, and he hastened through it.

It was the first time it felt like he couldn't get done quickly enough, but sadly not the last time.


	28. Chapter 28

He never got accustomed to the stares, but as long as that was the only thing that happened, he didn't argue about it. 

_What could he say, really? The mech was just staring, and the inmates were required to be supervised in the washracks, and the guard could state that he was just doing his job, making sure that Barricade wasn't up to something questionable._

But eventually it wasn't enough to just stare. Barricade stepped under the spray, eager to get the shower over with, and turned towards the mech to find him holding his spike, slowly stroking it. The Saleen's spark hiccuped with fear, and his tank roiled with disgust. _Would the guard ask for more than just watching this time? This wasn't right, prisoner or not, he had rights. He shouldn't have to stand this._

"I'm pretty sure that's against the regulations." He said reasonably, because snark probably wouldn't get him anywhere.

"So what are _you_ going to do about it?" The mech said derisively.

"I could file a complaint about harassment."

The guard actually snickered at that. "You think they will believe you over me? I mean, since you've been so boldly showing off your assets, clearly trying to seduce me, something I suspect you learned from all those pleasuremechs you took bribes from. But you didn't manage to do that — because_ I'm_ a mech who adhere to the laws, unlike some — you obviously tried getting back at me by filing a bogus complaint."

Barricade could feel his intake hanging open in shock, because that was not what he had been prepared for.

"I'll make sure you get locked down. No time outside your cell at all, the window in the door blacked out, no showering..."

_He hadn't even considered that things could be even worse than they already were, that he could be even more isolated, stripped of what little distractions he was allowed to have._

"If you don't want that to happen, I suggest you start cleaning yourself."

Spark cold, Barricade grabbed the bottle of solvent and started to clean his array, pressing down the energon at the back of his intake as the guard continued to stroke his spike.


	29. Chapter 29

The only upside to it was that the guard still hadn't worked up the nerve to demand more from Barricade than just the shows. It still disgusted the Saleen as much as the first time, it was still humiliating to be forced to perform like that just to keep from being punished even harsher, but at least he hadn't been asked to touch the mech in any way.

That made it all the more alarming when eventually the mech stepped closer, leaving his usual spot just inside the door, coming to stand right in front of Barricade. The Saleen froze on the spot, solvent still pelting down over him from the overhead shower, spattering the guard's plating as he stood there, bright optics trained on the Saleen, a nasty smirk on his face, hard spike in hand.

Barricade felt his tank convulsing with dread, the rush of energon in his audials so loud, he hardly heard the solvent hitting the floor.

_The mech would want more, and while Barricade could try to fight back, it would only land him in worse trouble. What if he was transferred to a worse facility? One where he'd be even more isolated. Or maybe he'd be sent out into the general population? Nobody would ever believe him if he told the truth, and what would be the punishment of being perceived as lying? And the guard would want revenge..._

The guard leaned even closer, front brushing against Barricade as he reached past the Interceptor. He turned the knob and shut the solvent. The Saleen's spark spun out of control in it's chamber, and his plating crawled where they touched, instinctively flattening against his wet protoform to try to get away. A shiver that wasn't all from the cold air of the room wracked his frame. He tilted his helm back to look up at the other mech, a sour taste in his intake when he swallowed the lump in his throat, waiting for an order he certainly would not want to obey.

_But what choice did he have?_

"Kneel."


	30. Chapter 30

Spark plummeting, Barricade slowly sank to his knees, fuel pump hammering.

_There's a first time for everything, but why did this have to be the first time he sucked spike? Why did he have to do it at all? He never had felt any inclinationto do it. Not even his fragging step-sire had ever forced him to suck cock, why did he have to catch this bastard's optics? Why couldn't he just be left alone?_

He swallowed queasily, optics riveted to the head of the mech's spike, the pre-transfluid beading there as the guard slowly stroked the length, waiting for the mech to order him to suck, lick or something else equally degrading.

He was not at all prepared for the mech to overload, sticky ropes of transfluid landing across his face-plates. Barricade recoiled and instinctively made a face, accidentally parting his lip-plates enough for some of the fluid to get into his intake.

"Stay still, if you know what's good for you." The guard growled when Barricade started moving.

As degrading as it was, Barricade froze, shutting his mouth to not get more of the bitter and tacky fluid into his intake, the taste already clinging to his glossa, making him want to purge. The mech kept milking his spike until he couldn't get another drop out of it, then he stepped back.

"Looks good on you. Too bad you'll have to wash it off."

Barricade knealt there, still frozen in shock and disgust, staring up at the guard.

"Go on, get to it. I don't have all day. I'm done with you. For now."

Numbly the Interceptor got up, vigorously scrubbing his face without feeling cleaner for it, trying to rinse his mouth without the guard noticing. He dried up quickly, eager to get out of there, and he managed to hold it together until he was back in his cell.

As soon as the door slammed shut and the guard left him — after a last leer through the little window in his door — he fell to his servos and knees over the floor drain, violently purging his tanks, and not for the first time since he went to prison, Barricade started crying.


	31. Chapter 31

Showering kept being a dreaded moment for some time. The mech never touched him, but having someone cum all over him was disgusting enough.

_For all the vile things his step-sire had done to him, this was the most degrading, most humiliating thing he had ever been through. Just thinking about it made him want to puke his tanks out._

_Or maybe it wasn't any more vile than what he had been through before? It was hard to draw a comparison years after the fact. _

All Barricade knew was that it was the same kind of helplessness. Someone who held his functioning in their servos, his future, abused that power by forcing him to do things he would never have done otherwise. And just like he couldn't file charges against his step-sire back then, not until someone witnessed it, filing complaints against the guard would be futile.

Then the mech disappeared. Barricade hadn't seen him for a few days, but that wasn't out of the ordinary with shift changes, vacations, and the likes. But for the first time for a while, he was taken to the washracks by someone else, someone who kept watch, but didn't stare at him. 

It was luxurious, like taking a day at the spa, even if he didn't get more time than normal. _Or maybe he did?_ Either way, the Saleen savoured every second under that showerhead without optics paying rapt attention. He washed himself thoroughly, feeling clean for the first time since that aft of a guard had started working there, and even if he knew that it might be the odd occasion, and that his nightmare might begin again again at any time, he pushed those thoughts away and showered like there was no tomorrow.

In the end, his worries were unnecessary. That guard never showed up again, and Barricade never dared asking if the mech had been caught and convicted, or transferred to torment someone else. _Why jinx it by asking? He really didn't need to know where the mech was. The bastard was gone, and he could enjoy his showers in peace again, and that was all that mattered. And he wasn't going to spend his time fretting about if it would happen again in the future. Not when there was nothing he could do about it anyway._


	32. Chapter 32

After long enough in solitary, anything that breaks the monotony is a welcome distraction. There was a time when Barricade would've found it distasteful with the rapt attention everyone paid when something went down in the ward, but those days were long gone.

His attention roused by a commotion outside, Barricade stopped his idle picking at a dent in the wall and went to the door to peek out through the tiny window.

The doors to the general ward were open, guards in tactical armor wrangling a big mech inside. There were cheers and hollering that could be heard from the general area, and the mech being dragged inside was cheering, somehow managing to wave his arms victoriously, even though two guards were holding on to them for all their worth.

"Yeah! You know who's the glitch now! How do you like _that?_ Get some!_"_

Then he rumbled a laugh as the doors slammed shut behind him, apparently very satisfied with himself and whatever he'd done.

His entire frame was spattered with energon, and his knuckles were visibly dented. He had a couple of scuffmarks here and there on his frame, but nothing close to explaining all the energon._ Was it a riot, or had it "just" been a fight? There was a lot of energon, but the mech seemed more exhilarated than agitated, at least at this point._

"Do you need medical assistance?" One of the guards shouted. "And calm the frag down, or we'll be forced to knock you out."

"Nah, it's just a scrape. You should've seen the other mech though..." The Flier said, focusing on the guard with a bright optic that seemed hungry for spilling more energon.

Barricade suddenly recognized the mech. _The Flier who was booked when he was._ The mech was all orange now, but it was definitely him.

"Alright, then you're going into your cell, and we'll come get you for cleaning up later." They started to lead the big thug down the row of cells.

"What?!" The Flier roared. _"Hell_ no, I ain't going into the hole! _He_ fucking started it. It's not _my_ fault that he couldn't stand a little self defense, someone fighting back for once!" 

He started struggling again, vicious determination turned towards the guards, and one of them was sent stumbling into one of the bolted down tables, grunting in pain as he hit it and lost his balance, ending up sprawled on the floor.

Then someone activated the inmate's stun-collar, and the big mech went down, frame convulsing with the shocks. A pained whine left his vocalizer, and even when the shocks subsided, he was still twitching, vents ragged. The guards dragged him along easily when he didn't resist anymore, and he was dumped into a cell.

The slamming shut of the cell door marked the end of the entertainment of the week, and Barricade went back to picking at the wall.


	33. Chapter 33

"Hey. Hey, I'm talking to you." Someone hissed as Barricade paced the rec area. 

The Saleen ignored it as usual. There were few mechs who reached out to him — most of the mechs in here were just temporary, usually for having misbehaved in gen pop, and already had friends, and a few of those in AdSeg for the same reasons as Barricade had done it before without the Saleen answering, and had already given up on him taking any interest in them — So it had to be a mech new to the ward.

Curiosity clawed at him, something that happened more frequently these days. In the begining, he just didn't want anything to do with anyone, but after a while the loneliness was getting unbearable. It was almost a compulsory need to know who was talking to him, but he didn't stop walking. He was a Speedster, and he needed to move. Preferably at speed, he needed to feel the wind against his sensors, but pacing the rec room the times he was let out of his tiny cell was what he got, and he would make the most of it and not waste time standing still. Something new was always a welcome distraction though, something he could twist and turn in his processor for hours to come to keep himself occupied when he was locked up again, and he couldn't help but flick one optic in the mech's direction, just to see who it was this time. 

_The Flier. So the mech was still in segregation since the brawl a few —_ _ how long had it been? Days? Weeks? — well, whenever it was._

"Come on, mech. I haven't seen you before at all, so either you've been in here for a really long time, or you're new. Either way, I bet you need some friends, right? For that day when you _finally_ get back out of this Primus damned hole."

The Saleen stopped, not turning his helm, but flicking another optic in the mech's direction. A single, red optic studied him where he stood, waiting for him to do something or say something. And he had reacted to the mech's words, had stopped to think about it, so he was as good as hooked, had shown interest in those words.

_Like he was ever getting out of solitary. But the thought was still strangely compelling. He hadn't had a friend in a very long time, had hardly used his vocalizer. No, that wasn't true. He answered the questions the medics had, and the guards when spoken to, and he used to hum to himself now and then, and yesterday, he told himself a story out loud. _

_Ok, maybe he did need friends._


	34. Chapter 34

Cautiously, he approached the mech's cell, because criminals could be very inventive when it came to ways to entertain themselves by harming others, and there was always the risk of the Flier remembering him as the resident ex-Enforcer, and just faking his ignorance. He came to a stop in front of the door at what he figured was a safe distance, meeting the mech's optic through the small window in the door.

"So what's the deal? Why are you in the hole?"

"What's it to you?" Barricade jutted his chin out with fake bravado, spark spinning wildly with nerves. _Don't show weakness_.

"I don't see a brand on you, you have no visible etchings, and you've not been in gen pop for as long as I've been there, and that's quite some time. Either you're really high up, and really really dangerous, or you're truly unaffiliated and need protection."

Barricade cocked an optical ridge without saying anything, hoping that the thug would go on and get to the point without the Mustang confirming anything. 

_If they believed that he was very dangerous, if this mech didn't remember him even though they came on the same bus, maybe he could roll with that image? Maybe he could get out of solitary, and just play that part? In here, he could be anyone. He could keep to himself, and just nurse the image of being the scary mobster, and everyone would leave him alone. He would be allowed to go outside — like _outsidethe building_, into the yard, to feel the wind against his plating — if he was in gen pop, would have much more time out of his cell over all. Distractions to keep him from thinking about all the things he didn't have anymore, all the ways he'd fucked up his life. He'd be allowed to have data pads to read, and he would be around other mechs, and maybe even be able to have a few friends. They wouldn't dare do anything to him, because they'd think there would be hell to pay._


	35. Chapter 35

"I know some small mechs who are fairly dangerous, but they are few and far between. So I'm guessing you're unaffiliated, and in her for your own protection." The mech continued.

"What makes you think I'm not affiliated? What makes you think I'm not in here because they want to keep me from seeing my subordinates? _What_ makes you think I need _protection?_" He scoffed, going for nonchalant irritation.

He was bummed out that the mech so easily poked a hole in his fantasy of a chance of getting out of solitary, since it seemed he wasn't recognizable anymore. The big mech chuckled.

"If you _really_ were a higher up, I would've known. My intel says there's no top dogs in this joint. Not one of ours we should protect, and not one of the others who'd get a different treatment." 

_Oh. He didn't consider that a gangster boss could be even more at risk._

"And the kill for thrills are in a different facility, so you're not that. You lack the swagger too, you know, that commanding presence that just oozes authority and danger. So my bet is you being too small and cute to walk around unaffiliated in the general population." The mech continued.

Barricade bristled at being called cute, but it was dismaying to be reminded of how he really had no option but to remain in solitary. That even if they forgot about his past, it didn't matter. He would never be safe out there. _If he didn't make friends_. _But did he really want to make friends with the other criminals? What if they found out about his past?_

"Must be awfully lonely and boring to sit around in here. That could change, you know. Get an in with the right people, you could get protection and be out in gen pop."

_It was so tempting. But what if it was a trick? What if the Flier just wanted to lure him out to get a chance to hurt him?_

"How, and why would I 'get an in with the right people'?"

"You're talking to the right people right now, and it just so happens that one of my cellmates is being released any day now. That leaves us with an empty berth. You could always make a request for a transfer to our cell, say that you are one of ours, that you belong with us. And we certainly wouldn't mind sharing you."


	36. Chapter 36

There was an obvious leer in the last sentence, and Barricade was disgusted. _Of course! Why did he think anything else? Gross fucking bastard._ The mech's optic trailed his frame slowly, all lascivious intent, and disgusting focus.

"I'm _not_ going to be your _prison bitch!_" He growled.

"I'd say it would be more like you being our conjux. You know, a polyamorous relationship. You could keep the cell clean, and polish us, and would be ours to fuck whenever we feel like it, but we wouldn't let others fuck you. Or hurt you for that matter."

_As if that would be a much better arrangement._

"I'm not shareware."

"Obviously not while stuck in segregation, but you could be."

_Ugh. And the mech said it as if it was a _tempting_ offer he was making._

"Just imagine the freedom it would give you: regular access to the yard, cygars and treats from the commissary, people to talk to..."

The mech's voice sounded strained, and he leaned closer to the window, exvents misting up the glass. Barricade noticed that he was moving slightly as he spoke. _As if..._

_Eew._

"Are you seriously jerking off right now?!"

"Yeah!" The Flier grunted. "Have my optic on the prettiest little frame I've seen in a long time, talking about facing, and I can imagine how hot you would look, aft up on my cot, legs spread, valve dripping for me. It's not like I've gotten any action since I went into solitary."

_Eew, eew, eew!_

Without another word, Barricade fled back to his cell.

_He'd had quite enough of moving around in full view of the disgusting bastard, thank you very much._


	37. Chapter 37

As welcome as distractions were when stuck in AdSeg — because he never took the gross Flier up on his offer of being a prison conjux just to get out of his solitary confinement — some distractions, Barricade would rather have been without.

_Of course they'd have a shakedown because someone had managed to smuggle drugs into the ward._

Rolling his optics, Barricade stepped out of his cell to let the turbohound search the cell. _Like he had any place to hide contraband. His mattress was hardly better than a slab of metal covered in metal mesh — an uncomfortable piece that hardly earned the name furniture, let alone made a good hiding spot for anything — and then it was just the floor drain left._ The hound cleared the cell, and the guards took over, turning everything upside down to check an extra round for things the hound was not trained for finding.

"Cell's clear, now it's just you left." One of the guards told him.

Barricade knew the drill by now. He turned around to face the wall, placed his servos against it, pedes planted wide, and waited for them to trigger open his subspace. 

_It was ludicrous. He didn't even have access to his own subspace, so why did they need to check? On the other servo, with so much time on his hands, maybe he could've hacked it, but still._

"Move it along, Barricade. We're going to the medbay."

_What?_

"Why?"

"Because we don't do the full frame searches. Only the medics do that."


	38. Chapter 38

He stared at the guard, refusing to understand for long moments, but then horror gripped him when he realized exactly what procedure they were going to do. _And they were indeed going to do it to him._

"Move it, Barricade."

"_No!_ You can't do that, you have no right..." He snarled, sidestepping and holding up his arm to block the guard who reached for the Interceptor.

"We have every right to search for contraband. By all means necessary."

"But I don't _have_ anything! I have no opportunities at all to get any contraband, and I don't even want it anyway." He protested with rising panic, struggling against the hold the guard managed to get on his arm. "Let go of me! I have _rights_!"

"You do. You have the right to remain silent..."

"We've gotten a tip that you mule drugs between drop off points inside the ward. We checked the alleged dropoffs, and we have found drugs there, so the tip was accurate so far." One of the other guards said.

For the first time since Barricade was locked up, he didn't comply. No, when the other guard tried to grab his other arm, he put his self defense skills to use, twirling his arm out of the way, while kicking the mech's pedes out from under him. The guard hit the floor with a loud clang and a pained grunt, and Barricade turned on the guard still holding his arm, using the mech's distarction to land a solid hit across the mech's throat. Then his arms were free, and he turned to run.

_Where the hell was he going to go? _

The corner of the corridor seemed like the easiest defendable position. 

_He just needed to get the guards to see reason. He wasn't that type of mech, surely they would listen to him if he just got a chance to talk this through._

Another servo grasped at his shoulder-wing, and he elbowed the mech in the side, freeing himself again, then he was off down the corridor.

He made it all of ten steps, then his collar was activated, and with an agonized warble, Barricade hit the floor.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To counter Barricade's very awful day, here's a throwback to his time as a corrupt cop, having some fun with Jazz. https://mostly-him.tumblr.com/post/188509958307/comission-for-steena82-uncensored-version-here

"Well that was entertaining, funniest thing I've seen for weeks. Almost makes up for you being too robochicken to go out into gen pop, cop-bot."

Barricade fought the urge to puke, slowly turning his helm to look up at the cell door he had been felled in front of. Oral lubricant hung in long strings from his intake, and he felt like he had been run over by some sort of mining mech _after_ taking a punch to the helm.

_The crazy Helicopter from his first day there._

"Well, have fun being fisted. Oh, sorry, I mean _searched_." The bastard smiled innocently.

Barricade dry heaved, and it made the mech's grin widen.

"And you're welcome by the way. You seemed to be a bit lonely and bored here, I thought I'd add a bit of excitement to your functioning. Some _penetration_. Hope you enjoy it."

_The fucker set him up!_

Barricade had never wanted to offline someone so badly before, wanted to bash the mech's smug smirk off his face-plates and keep hitting until the Helo was scrap. But alas, the Interceptor could hardly move, frame still uncooperative after the shocks, so the only thing he could do was lay there with impotent anger and cold dread turning his tank. _And drool. At least he didn't void his waste tank in front of the Helo..._

The guards grabbed his arms, pulled them behind his back and he was cuffed. Not that he could have resisted at all, but they were obviously not taking any chances.

"You really shouldn't have done that." One of the guards growled.

_Well, no shit. _

"You're still going to be searched, but now you earned yourself some time in full lock-in when this is done."

_Would've been worth it if it had gotten him out of the search._

They hauled him upright, Barricade still dangling limply between them, and dragged him towards the medbay.

_Fuck his functioning. With a fist, apparently._

Behind him, the Helicopter cackled gleefully.


	40. Chapter 40

The guards dumped him on his side on the medberth, servos still cuffed behind his back, the medic looking very unimpressed.

"Fighter?"

"Yep. Check us over first. Had to shock him, so he'll be immobile for a little while longer.

Barricade zoned out the conversation as the medic checked the damage he'd done to the guards in his attempt to buy himself a little time. _Fat lot of good that did him._

For all the humiliating procedures he had submitted to since that day when he was arrested, he had not had the displeasure of going through a cavity search. _But there's always a first time for everything. Hopefully, it would be the last too._

Then all too soon the medic came to stand in front of Barricade.

"I guess you know this procedure considering your former job, but I'll walk you through it anyway."

"Please don't do this. I don't have anything, I never would do something like that. Why would I want to risk adding more time on my sentence?" Barricade begged, voice still rough with static from the shocks. _Or was it because he was so close to crying?_

"I have heard those exuses before." The medic sounded bored. "Unfortunately for you, it's not only that we have the right to examine you, but we are legally obligated to do it on suspicion of smuggling. My recommendation is that you cooperate, or we will be forced to restrain you for this. And even more resistance would not look good on your part if you're going up for parole at some point."

"I'm being set up. One of the other inmates did this just for me to wind up here. You _have_ to believe me. _Please!_" Barricade's voice broke with a sob he couldn't stifle.

"It's not an option to not search you. We can't just take your word for it. What we're going to do here today is check your cavities for contraband manually, and then check all your tanks with cameras. Will you submit to this, or do we have to restrain you?"

_What good would it do to resist? They would just force him, and he'd be punished for resistance afterwards._

"I'll cooperate." He whispered weakly.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one, and the upcoming four chapters, are all depictions of uncomfortable medical procedures that are not really consensual. Ye be warned.

The cuffs were released, and after the medic thoroughly inspected his intake — even feeling around with a gloved digit — he was handed a small cube with a cloudy, gray fluid in it. Barricade stared at the contents, the look of it not the least appetizing.

"That'll numb your throat for when we take a look with the camera. Drink it all."

The thick, syrupy glop tasted bitter, and clung inside his intake in a disgusting way, but he managed to force it down.

"Good. While waiting for that to take full effect, we're going to proceed with the other steps. Were going to use that berth over there. If you hop on it, put your legs up over those supports, and scoot down until your aft is almost hanging over the edge, I'll get the other things. Oh, and open your panels."

_How was it even possible that he could hit a new low after everything he'd been through?_ Barricade threw a glance at the guards who still lingered in the medbay, in case he decided to get violent again. _Why not make him felt even more exposed for it? They were there to keep an optic on him after all, so of course they would be staring at him._

He clambered onto the berth, put his legs up, and opened his panels, and he mentally squirmed at the position. The medic came back with a small table on wheels, heaped with boxes of equipment, and stepped up between Barricade's spread legs.

"This is another numbing agent for your waste fluid nozzle."

It was all the warning he got before something slick pressed into the tiny nozzle, and his entire frame, his very being screamed that things were not meant to go _into_ that component. He flailed his arms reflexively, back tensing, and yelped. Then he could feel liquid trickle into him, and he squirmed in a full frame discomfort he couldn't put words on. The tiny hose was pulled out again, leaving the nozzle irritated, and feeling... weakened.

"Good. Now that'll have to sit for a while. I'll proceed with your valve."

"I need to void." He blurted desperately, because it felt like it would happen at any second now, wheter he wanted to or not.

"It's just the nozzle tricking your frame, and the numbness that's starting to take effect. You'll be fine." The medic dismissed.

_Fine then. If the bastard wanted to be pissed on, let him have it, if it turned out Barricade was right._

Then digits slipped into his valve, and it threw him back to the last time he had been fingered. _One leg over the back of the couch, one over the edge of the seat, his step-sire hunched over him, pumping his gross digits into Barricade's valve, and then with a gloating smirk, he pushed that bottle into him instead, too thick, and square and just not fitting..._

"No, please don't! Stop, stop,_ no!" _He cried out as long repressed panic welled up in his spark, scrabbling up the bert to get out of reach the same way he had done back then. _And it had earned him the punishment-fuck of the century..._

"Want us to restrain him?"

"Yes."


	42. Chapter 42

Servos cuffed to the rail of the berth, a thick belt across his hips, and his legs strapped to the supports, Barricade was effortlessly immobilized and completely helpless. He cried silently in disgust and terror when the digits slipped into his valve again, feeling around.

"Is this a seal?"

"Y-yes."

"I need to verify the authenticity of course, so you're not lying, and this is to cover contraband."

_Of course, why just leave his valve alone?_

The medic picked up a fibreoptic camera and slipped it into Barricade's valve, turning it around to look closely at the seal.

"Indeed, it is a true manufacturing seal."

_Like he said._

"If you had been cooperating, you would have been allowed take your legs down for this next procedure, but it's too timeconsuming to wrangle you back and forth, and it's your own fault. I need to check your fueltank while the anesthesia is still effective. For your own comfort."

The upper part of the berth lowered until he was flat on his back, legs still spread for anyone who wanted to see. He couldn't even close his panels, because the medic had put blocking clamps on them to hinder them from sliding shut. It was so utterly humiliating, and he felt so vulnerable, the guards standing close by. _Fucking unnecessary, what would he be able to do when tied down like this?_

The part of the berth his helm rested on folded away, and his helm hung over the edge. _Like those deepthroating videos he'd seen. _Just the thought of that made him cringe, even if this technically was a medical procedure. He squirmed what little he could in discomfort.

"Open up." The medic said, holding a tube with a camera in the end in front of Barricade's intake.

The Saleen forced himself to open his intake. It was invasive, and the position was awful because of the way it made him think of other acts, but swallowing a camera wasn't nearly as humiliating as the position he was in. The tube slipped in, and he tensed, but he was so numb, it didn't hurt, even though he could feel it slide down his throat. It wasn't much of a relief, but at least it was something. The medic stared at the screen for what seemed like hours.

"No contraband here."

_He told them so! Why did they listen more to that fragging lunatic Helicopter?_

The camera slipped out of his intake, and the support for his neck returned to it's original position. The medic put the camera away and returned to stand between Barricade's legs again, grabbing a much smaller tool, and Barricade just wanted to wake up and find this a nightmare.


	43. Chapter 43

It didn't actually hurt, the anesthetic was that good, but he did feel something this time too, and he really wished that he wouldn't

The tiny camera slipped into the nozzle of his waste tank, and it sent a zing of sensation up his back-struts that had him tense again, and he couldn't help trying to squirm. _He felt so fucking violated._

He lifted his helm to look at what the medic was doing, but all he could see was the mech staring at the screen, moving his servo, probably to get every angle, and those movements renewed that sensation of urgently having to void. Barricade ground his denta, his entire body clenching with the instinctive reflex to try to hold it.

"Nothing illegal here either. Just two steps left. I need him on the other berth."

_Two steps he'd rather not endure._

The medic stepped away, rolling the table with tools with him to the other berth while the guards released Barricade's restraints.

_"Please_ don't! I don't have anything there either, I _swear._" He sobbed. "I can squat and exvent to show you, please..."

"Regulations state that everything has to be controlled when there's a suspicion of smuggling."

The guards led him back to the other berth, and Barricade reluctantly allowed it, because fighting them would be futile.

"Which side is your oil reservoir and filters on?" The medic asked.

"Left." His voice was a broken whisper.

"Then I want you on that side. Pull your knees up a bit, and try to relax."

_Like he could ever relax when he was about to have a servo shoved up his ass_. 

He crawled onto the berth and laid down as instucted, they guards cuffing his servos and pedes to the railing of the berth. A strap across his waist fixed him in place, and the sound of an examination glove snapping against plating made his frame shiver with disgust, and his optics snapped to the medic.

He watched as the medic poured lube on his servo, and when the mech went around the berth to stand behind him, Barricade offlined his optics and forced down the energon rising to the back of his intake.


	44. Chapter 44

Nothing could ever have prepared him for it. The easy way the slick digits slipped into him, no matter how hard his ass clenched reflexively. It made it all the more disgusting, that way he was empty one second, and then suddenly he was so fucking full, and there was apparently nothing he could do to keep those fingers out of him.

The medic twisted his digits, and Barricade mewled in disgust when his insides were stroked as those fingers smoothed the walls of his maintenance port, checking for hidden objects that didn't exist, before they finally slipped out, helped along by his clenching calipers.

He sobbed in humiliation, still restrained and bared for those present to see, ass slick with lubricant, feeling robbed of his privacy as well as the last shreds of his dignity.

And then something slipped into him again, much slimmer, but equally unwanted. He jerked when something felt inredibly wrong in there as the tool nudged the drain valve to his oil reservoir to get it free from the drain hose, and then the component sent him a pop-up in his HUD about a possible malfunction or a breach, and Barricade wanted so desperately to crawl under something and hide, to purge his tank, and to take a shower, and he couldn't even decide in what order. He whined in disgust.

"Stop squirming, I'm just checking your oil tank. When was the last time you had an oil-change? Do you have a centrifuge oil filter?"

_As if he could focus on that when his fucking drain valve was saying that it wasn't working properly!_

"I don't fucking know! Check the medical notes or something, it was done here. I had long life oil, and my centrifuge wasn't cleaned last time, now get that the fuck _out _of me!" He ground out, gripping the railing of the berth so hard it creaked.

As if to punish him for being difficult, the thing lingered inside him for long moments before it finally was pulled out. It was immediately replaced with the digits again and Barricade tried to squirm away.

"Just making sure your drain valve doesn't need a recalibration after that, and reattaching it to the hose. You don't want to be forced to do your oil changes this way from now on, would you? And I don't feel like having you complaining about leakage after this. This is for your own sake, so stop squirming!" The medic said before Barricade could protest, sounding annoyed.


	45. Chapter 45

Those digits had to go awfully far into him to touch the drainage, and Barricade shuddered at the stretch, and the strange feeling when something brushed the waste gate. Then, after what seemed like hours, the digits finally slipped out of him. The blocks were removed, and he slammed his panels shut immedately, not wanting to be bare a second longer.

The guards loosened his restraints, and Barricade slowly sat up, feeling sore and achy everywhere. The lubricant made him feel wet in a disgusting way, and he gingerly slid off the berth, standing stiffly with his pedes planted wide out of discomfort.

"Let's go. You're going straight into full lock-in."

"I'm not even allowed to shower first?" He said weakly, spark plummeting. _He felt disgusting, washing himself would at least remove most of the lubricant._

"You would've been if you had cooperated. But you harmed three guards, and actively fought the search. Immediate lock-in it is."

He walked stiffly in front of the guards, a dull ache deep in his chassies, the slickness of his entire undercarriage a disgusting reminder of how thoroughly his frame had been invaded, and he hobbled down the corridor, optics on the floor.

_Everyone watching — and it was always _everyone,_ because entertainment was sparse in AdSeg — had seen the raid, and how he had been taken down. They knew where he had been dragged off to, and of course they would know what had been done to him. And if that wasn't enough, he would be reminded of it for the foreseeable future with the slick wetness of artificial lube lingering inside him. At least until he was allowed to shower again, whenever that might be._

"There he goes..." The Helicopter sang cheerily as he passed. "Is that lubricant on your aft? You look... _loosened up_. Not such a tight-ass anymore. Did you like it?" He cackled. "I bet you could easily take the biggest cock anywhere right now, might as well just go into gen pop and offer. They'll keep you slack and sloppy for the rest of your stay, make it easier on you the next time you get searched and get a servo up your ass."

Barricade could feel his face-plates burning with humiliation, and he hurried his steps, eager to pull his ratty blanket over his helm and hide from the world for a decade or two.


	46. Chapter 46

The next time he wound up in the medbay, it was no more lovely than the first.

If it was an honest mistake or a set-up, he would never know, but one second, he was pacing the rec area as usual, eager to stretch his struts and get to move a bit, the next a mech punched him in the helm, sending him flying to land sprawled on the floor. Completely caught off guard — there shouldn't even be an inmate there with him, he was always let out alone, and the guards seemed to have disappeared — he didn't even have time to put his self defense skills to use.

He curled up as much as he could to shield himself from the vicious kicks, tried to roll away to get his pedes under him, to get up from the floor, but the mech straddled him instead, forcing him to lay on his back. The other inmate was much bigger than Barricade, and his attempt to use a technique he had learned to buck an attacker off him was futile.

Through the agony from punch after punch landing against his helm and upper body, Barricade had time to be terrified that the mech was going to use him in other ways after he was done beating him up. _If he didn't offline him right here._

"I know what you did to my little brother, you little fucker!" The mech snarled.

Another punch to his helm.

"He was just into his new grown up frame, and he had minor drug charges left from his last year at school, but he was on the straight and narrow, on his way to the academy, a bright future before him. _You_ busted him, and you took advantage of him."

More punches landed, and Barricade's audials were ringing so loudly he could hardly hear what the mech was saying over the noise. The Saleen almost feelt as if he was sinking into himself.

"You literally fucked him over for just a little bit of weed, and to cope, he started using heavy routers..."

Whatever the mech said next was lost to him, as Barricade slipped into unconsciousness.

The next thing he knew, he onlined in the medbay. It was obvious that he had been given some strong painkillers, but still his entire frame managed to throb in pain. The medics had clearly plugged in and cleared his fault reports, because he couldn't find anything on what kind of damage he had sustained.

_Including no reports on wheter he'd been fucked or not._

He didn't want to ask either, didn't want to talk to the medics if he didn't have to, so he waited until the night, when the staff on duty didn't do more than rounds to check, between drinking hot energon in the staff room. After one round, when he was fairly certain he'd be left alone for a while, he opened his panel and reached between his legs.

_No aches, and no soreness._ He slipped his digit inside slowly, relieved when he hit the seal. _At least the mech didn't do _that_ to him._ Then he cringed when he realized that he could've been violated in other ways. Barricade reached further, nudged the entrance to his port. _It wasn't sore, didn't feel torn or loose. He was still untouched._

Sighing with relief, he offlined his optics and waited for recharge to claim him.


	47. Chapter 47

His release-date is finally here! He got his parole! Barricade is jittery with nervous anticipation when the guard comes to get him. The Saleen gets his repaint and returns to his old monochromatic style — sans service signs, of course — because he doesn't know what other colors to get. He pointedly avoids the thought of how that's the only thing left of his identity, because he defined himself by his profession first and foremost, so who is he now that he is not a cop anymore? 

The Mustang waits impatiently for the paint to dry, and then he's walked out to the reception. The administrative forms are processed — it seems like it takes hours to answer all the questions, and sign all the documents — but then the collar is finally removed, and the meager possessions he had in his subspace when they brought him in is returned. _10 credits, a couple of rags, and a long expired pack of condoms._

Then he's finally a free mech again, and with his spark spinning wildly with excitement, he steps through the doors. It isn't one of those moments seen in the movies, when the ex-inmate steps out into the summer heat, turning his face towards the sun shining from a cloudless sky, dragging a deep vent of fresh air to smell the blooming crystals and freedom, the petrobirds singing.

No, Barricade steps out into the cold drizzle, the thick clouds making the day look dark and dreary, and the sour smell of the pollution from the nearby factories permeating the air. _It doesn't matter, it still smells like freedom. _

Slowly folding into his alt mode, savoring the feeling of transforming for anything more than just the check-up in the prison medbay, he runs a self calibration of his systems, engine revving excitedly before he drives off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world's longest prologue has come to an end, and our Saleen is finally out of the joint! He has been inside for a rather long time, and he's so ready to be back out in the world. But has the world waited for him?


	48. Chapter 48

Just moving around unhindered keeps him occupied for most of the day, the simple act of finally driving again such a relief on his high performance systems. Barricade runs down the highway, his systems buzzing with the thrill of feeling the wind whipping around him. The Saleen pulls off into a rest stop, empty of others, and indulges in transforming back and forth at least a dozen times, not stopping until his t-cog is starting to feel sore from overexertion. _He hasn't done this for so long, and it's such a relief._ Then he speeds back down the highway, back towards the city, without a care in the world. _He's free! _

But inevitably, he has to stop and think about his situation, because with freedom comes the responsibility to set himself up with the necessities of life.

_Fuel levels on thirty percent, he's low on cash, evening is closing in, and everything he had before he was put away is gone._

He has no apartment to go to anymore; it was lost because he couldn't pay for it while inside. His possessions were most likely thrown away, or sold off by the landlords when he was evicted in his absence. His meager savings have been eaten up by his rent, and mortgages.

Barricade's friends and former co-workers have all estranged him, at least he supposes so, because they never showed up to visit him in prison, or even sent him a message, and he's not keen on seeking them out just to grovel for a place to stay. _That would just add another layer to this distasteful cake of humiliation_. 

At least his carrier has taken the time to inform Barricade that he has moved to another city state, and to make it abundantly clear that he is re-conjuxed in a good way. He wants nothing to do with his son — the result of a short and tumultuous affair of interface and high grade he'd rather forget, brought up in a bonding he'd rather forget — who made himself famous by being convicted for his corruption, and doesn't fit into his new life, married to a low level politician. 

Barricade's sire never wanted anything to do with him. The Mustang hasn't met him since he was very young — the one time his carrier tried to introduce him in an effort to win his sire's affections back — and hardly even remember the mech's face, but he do remember the smell of booster-burned circuitry, and the annoyed disgust in the mech's field when he saw Barricade.

Seeking out his step-sire is out of the question. He'd rather recharge behind a dumpster.

_And what little money he has in his subspace isn't enough for a motel room, so spending a night behind a dumpster is looking more and more likely. _


	49. Chapter 49

Stripped of all those options, Barricade does the only ting he can think of: he starts to look for Jazz. It isn't easy, as street mechs are inherently wary of an Enforcer style mech asking questions — service signs or no — as if it isn't enough of a complication that he hasn't been around for years, and not many of the mechs Barricade knew before his incarceration seems to be around anymore. Finally, after spending most of his meager wad on a cube of high grade — and a hefty tip he can't really afford — in a run down bar, he manages to get a lead worth following. 

The Polyhexian has moved, just like he said he would, but at least he hasn't left the city. Close to midnight, Barricade has narrowed down his search area, and is fairly certain that he's finally cruising the right streets. The neighborhood is slightly better than where Jazz used to hang out before, and even if there's hookers at every other corner, and mechs Barricade's trained optics would peg for either dealers or pimps, the streets seem rather calm. The way the optics of the residents linger on him as he drive by doesn't elude him, and he knows that stopping to ask for Jazz will bring him up short. _These mechs won't talk to him because of his colors_.

He turns another corner and finally, the shareware leaning against the wall is a fairly familiar Polyhexian frame. The lines are slightly different — some of his plating has been removed to show off more of his protoform, and it looks like he may have changed his altmode — but the Mustang holds no doubt that the mech is Jazz. He stops in front of the mech and transforms.

"Hi." He says, because for all the time he has been looking for his former lover, he hasn't actually spent much time trying to figure out how to do this, and what to say, because he was drawing a blank and gave up. 

_What if Jazz has a new mech? He never came back to visit, after all. And it isn't like Barricade has been a catch for someone like Jazz for a very long time. He's not really a catch for anyone right now._


	50. Chapter 50

"Barricade?! Ya're out?!" Jazz calls out, optics focusing on the Saleen.

"Yeah. Got out earlier today..." He trails off, rubbing his neck awkwardly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. _What if Jazz doesn't want him here?_

His fretting proves to be unnecessary. Jazz runs up to him and jumps at him, clinging to the Interceptor like a cybermonkey. Surprisingly strong arms wrap around Barricade's neck, and optic-catching legs cling around his hips. Instinctively, Barricade splays his servos on Jazz's aft to support him.

"I missed ya!" Jazz purrs, rubbing himself against the Interceptor, trailing little kisses along his neck.

Barricade bites back a groan. Jazz has lost his interface plating while Barricade has been away, and now he's wearing fabric pants instead — like so many pleasuremechs do to entice their potential clients — and now the thin fabric is the only thing between his own rapidly heating plate and the hot dampness between Jazz's legs. Years of celibacy — which he is not going to complain about, thank Primus for that — has his frame responding instantly. Interface protocols request start up, but he sets them in standby, even if he knows that it's kind of presumptuous. _Just in case._

"I missed you too. How are you? Are you going off shift soon?" The Interceptor forces out, grinding against the Solstice.

Jazz never kept working whenever Barricade showed up, but back then, he would pay for anything the Polyhexian needed to get him to stop for the rest of the night. Right now, the Interceptor only has three credits in his subspace, and it sure won't be enough to pay for a room, and some fuel. _And to get some of that hot, wet pussy._ His interface protocols ping him again. _Maybe just a quickie against the wall? One for the road first?_

"I'm supposed ta be workin' all night, but I think I can convince Hide ta let me have tha rest of tha night off. I mean, it's not every day one of my friends get outta jail, n' I've already earned really good this week."

_Hide?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 50, and we celebrate it with a hint of an upcoming inevitable introduction!


	51. Chapter 51

"D'ya have someplace we can go n' get... _reacquainted_?" Jazz purrs with all lascivious intent, toying with Barricade's sensitive shoulder-wing with a precision that makes Barricade's vents hitch.

"No, I... I was kind of hoping that you have a motel room we could crash in, or some other place we can go to." He admits, feeling like a loser. _He _is_ a loser. He had a good job, and a good apartment, and he fucked it all up. He has nothing._

"I usually don' bring outsider mechs home, it's not really approved if it isn't prospects, business associates, or hang arounds who've been cleared. But I'll fix it. Hide's nice, n' I've earned it. I'm sure he'll make an exception of I vouch for ya."

Jazz is still clinging to him, rubbing against him, but Barricade can tell that he is on the comm with someone.

"All set, let's go, baby." Jazz murmurs in his audial, unwrapping his legs to get back down on the ground. 

The mech folds into his new alt mode — a Solstice — just like one of Jazz's favorite TV show reluctant hero from a series they used to watch back in the day. Jazz always dreamt about reformatting into that form, and now he has apparently afforded it somehow, though he does lack some of the plating even in alt mode. Then he rolls out, Barricade following him.

It's not a very long drive before they come up to a compound that has Barricade pausing warily outside the gates. The house is big, an old mansion left in the middle of the projects, probably abandoned for quite sometime before the current residents moved in. Some repairs have been done to the exterior, but it still needs some work before it is fully restored to it's former glory. What was at some point a large garden — judging by the long dead organic plants, a very expensive imported luxury, it was ostentatious in it's blatant display of the inhabitant's wealth — is now lit by floodlights, the dry ground dusty and marred by pede tracks as well as marks from wheels, and scorched by thrusters. The perimeter is circled by high walls, topped with wires that Barricade guesses are electrified. 

A serious looking, absolutely massive mech — according to Barricade's nervously discreet scan, he has some heavy weaponry concealed in his frame — lets them through the gates, suspiciously watching the Interceptor, and Barricade can't help but think that this is just another prison. He still follows Jazz though, because he has nowhere else to go, and he really wants to catch up with Jazz. They roll up to the house, and Barricade transforms back to root mode when Jazz does, looking up at the looming building with an uneasy feeling in his tank.


	52. Chapter 52

"What is this place?" Barricade mumbles, half aimed at Jazz, half musing out loud. 

His gut instinct is screaming at him to leave while he still can, and he's more than half inclined to heed that call._ If he just had somewhere else to go._

"This is Hide's house. He's my employer, ya could say. He supplies me with everythin' I need, n' I get ta keep 10% of what I make." Jazz says, sounding rather fond of this '_Hide_'.

Barricade just nods, not interested in going further into the details of the 'employment.' He follows Jazz up the stairs to the massive double doors. _Adorned with that emblem of a face he saw on a few of his fellow prisoners, here painted in a vivid red. He's stepping into gang territory._

"I've set us up for a cube, n' a frag in my room, but ya hafta sleep on tha couch. Hide doesn't really trust strangers with his mechs, n' he wouldn' budge on tha' point." Jazz says apologetically.

_Figures. At least Jazz has someone who looks out for him. Even if it's his pimp._

The Saleen allows himself to be led through what seems like a recreational area just inside the doors — what was probably just an opulent entrance back in the golden age, now comfortably furnished with plush couches and chairs. Jazz grabs his servo and drags him down a hallway through what looks like a recharging wing of the house. The door he's ushered through looks like all the other doors, but the room behind it is comfortable, personal, and looks lived in. 

The Saleen looks around while Jazz fetches energon for them both. There's knickknacks and pictures adorning the shelves and walls, and there's no doubt that this is where Jazz lives, and Barricade can't help but think that it's a step up from the long line of anonymous motel rooms his lover used to frequent, the only personal things he toted around was what could fit in his subspace. _Primus knows that it's more than he's got at the moment._

Jazz comes back, handing the Interceptor a cube, a smile playing on his lips when he sinks to sit on the berth. He motions to a box on the nightstand in silent invitation, then he reaches for it and grabs himself a cygar. Barricade sits next to him, and even though he doesn't want to seem greedy, he drinks half the cube pretty quickly. He was getting kind of low. Jazz lights up the cyg and draws a deep vent through it, coughing a little as he does, then he hands it to Barricade.

The Interceptor smells the weed it's laced with and declines it. _It's very tempting, but it seems stupid to get high the first day out. Wouldn't it be just his luck if someone from law enforcement decides to make a random check on him, and he's high as a kite the day after getting out on parole? He'd be stamped "second strike" and back in prison so fast his helm would still be spinning when he was pushed into gen pop and earned the nickname 'prison transport'._

"I'll pass this time."

"Suit yourself. It's some really fine weed."

_Don't do it._

"Just one taste." He says.

Jazz holds the cyg out, and Barricade wraps his lip-plates around it, brushing Jazz's fingers. They used to share smokes like this way back when, and the familiar act is comforting, and feels like coming home in a way that makes his spark clench. 


	53. Chapter 53

Barricade downs the rest of his cube, and then he just can't keep his servos off of Jazz anymore. He grabs the mech, pulls him closer to steal a kiss, servos sliding down his sides to his hips. Jazz hums an amused chuckle against his lip-plates, pressing closer. Barricade pushes him down, eagerly tugging those flimsy hotpants down well polished legs, discarding them on the floor. His hungry optics roam Jazz's bare array, and he stops himself for a few seconds, sliding digits through slick folds, dipping inside the hot and charged valve bared before him. Jazz mewls and arches into the touch and Barricade can't take it anymore. He crawls on top of the Solstice and is about to line up, when Jazz stops him.

"Wait! We need this." The Polyhexian says, reaching for something on the night stand. Barricade watches as he opens the wrapping of a jimmy.

_That's new._

Jazz rolls it onto Barricade's spike with practiced ease. "I only bareback the brothers now." He says apologetically as he finishes and lines the Saleen's spike up. 

Barricade decides to think about that statement later, and thrusts inside. Jazz wraps his legs around his hips to push him deeper, closer, and Barricade drapes himself over his lover, searching his intake out for another scorching kiss.

They move against each other, a familiar dance even after so long, and Barricade's charge is skyrocketing. _He hasn't even jerked off during his time in prison, he couldn't get it up._

Overload hits fast and hard, and Barricade groans into Jazz's neck-cables, then he falls into reboot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: for this story, I headcanon that Jazz's altmode before his reformat was an early 1980s Ford fiesta.


	54. Chapter 54

How long he remains offline, he can't tell, but when he onlines again, Jazz is draped over his chest, and the condom has been removed and discarded, and he has been wiped down.

"I don' wanna kick ya out, but ya hafta go take tha couch now." The Solstice says mournfully.

"But I just came!" Barricade whines.

"I know, babe, n' I really want ya ta stay, but I promised Hide. B'sides, we will just recharge anyway, n' I'll see ya first thing in tha mornin'." 

_It's true, but Barricade really would enjoy recharging with Jazz, tangled up, fields laced. Just like they used to do. _He still allows the Solstice to lead him out of the room, back to the recreational area, digits laced together. Barricade does notice how his lover doesn't even put his pants back on, nor his panel. He just walks out there completely bare for all to see, but Barricade doesn't comment on it.

"This is Barricade, n' he's my guest. He's takin' tha couch tonight. It has been cleared by Ironhide." Jazz says to the mechs loitering in the lobby.

Optics sweep up and down Jazz's frame, lingering on his array, and then the attention is turned to the Saleen, every inch of his plating closely inspected. The careful scrutiny forces Barricade to stifle a shudder, because somehow it reminds him of the sleazy prison guard who used to stare at him while he showered. There's a long moment of silence, and Barricade can practically feel the buzz of active comms in the air. 

_Are they discussing the arrangement, or is it his frame they're talking about? Perhaps it's his paint job? They're gang bangers after all, and he still looks like an Enforcer._

Then there's nods all around, and he lets out a vent he didn't know that he was holding.

"There's a blanket on tha couch in tha corner. I'll come get ya in tha morning n' set ya up with some fuel, k'?" Jazz instructs as he drags the Interceptor to said couch.

They kiss briefly, Jazz pulling away before it gets heated, and then the Polyhexian leaves him there. Barricade grabs the blanket and curls up on the couch, burrowing in the soft fabric that smells like dust and lack of use. 

One of the mechs gets up when Jazz passes, sliding his digits teasingly across the mech's shoulders. He follows Jazz when he goes upp the stairs instead of back to his room, and Barricade can't help the way his tank roils when the mech pats Jazz's aft, the Polyhexian laughing at something the mech murmurs in his audial as he presses up against Jazz's back.

In spite of being exhausted, it takes him a very long time to fall into recharge with unknown mechs so close by. _With Jazz in someone else's berth._ It's not that the mechs lounging around are raucous. The conversation is low, even though it's sometimes broken by momentary laughter. No, it's just that they're there. His cell in solitary felt safer than this place.


	55. Chapter 55

They fall into a routine. Well, as much of a routine as one can establish in a week. Jazz wakes him up and invites him to his room for a frag, some cuddles, and morning energon. Then the Solstice follows him out to look for a job until Jazz has to work. He'll give Barricade a few credits, and the Interceptor spends the night nursing his energon in some bar as Jazz works, then he follows Jazz back, gets laid, and then he crashes on the couch. It isn't as intimate as he'd like, but it is what he gets, and Barricade can do nothing but settle for it. _At least he gets fuel, and has a roof over his helm._

At first, Barricade has some hopes of finding a real job, but the first thing that's always asked is why he isn't on the force anymore, and when they learn that he's a felon — which he's required by law to inform potential employers of — he is turned away. The Saleen is starting to get desperate. Jazz's smile gets more tight-lipped for every day he draws a blank too.

Then late in the eight afternoon when they come home briefly, Jazz needing to _freshen up_ before his shift, things take a turn for the worse. They're passing the recreational area, heading for Jazz's room, when a mech Barricade hasn't seen before comes down the stairs.

_Massive arms that according to Barricade's scan conceals heavy weaponry, thick, black armor, except for chrome details. Like his rims, for example, perfectly polished and screaming wealth in that in-your-faceplates way only a thug would go for._

"Jazz, you're working in-house tonight." 

"Really?" Jazz seems surprised, but sounds happy about the change in schedule, whatever it means.

"You can get out here in two hours. Go to your room until then. I need to talk to your... _friend_. Alone."

"As ya wish, Hide." Jazz says, even though his facial expression betrays that he isn't thrilled about that. The smile he gives Barricade seems forced. He still turns on his heel and heads for his room without protests.

The mech comes to a stop in front of Barricade, looking the smaller mech up and down in a deliberate way. The Saleen tries to not show his apprehension, feeling rather unplated under the heavy gaze. _Jazz called him Hide. This is the boss here._

"Designation?" The mech's voice is a deep rumble.

"Barricade." He says, stifling the urge to end it with a 'Sir'. _The mech is inherently commanding, the obvious alpha mech in this territory._

"Well, _Barricade,_" icy blue optics sweep his frame again, "I think I've been fairly hospitable, I know that getting out of prison doesn't make it easy to get everything settled for a few days, but this is not a charity. If you're going to stay, you better start earning your keep."


	56. Chapter 56

Barricade works his intake, caught off guard. "I... Jazz said that it was ok..." He says weakly, spark and processor spinning a million miles an hour._ He really doesn't want to cross this mech, and he really thought that Jazz had it covered. Should he have handled it differently? Jazz made it seem ok._

"Jazz and I made a deal for a couple of nights, but Jazz ain't got enough to pay for both of you in the long run. A new deal must be made. A personal one, between me and you."

"I've been looking for a job..." Barricade mumbles. _Maybe he can get a payment plan? As soon as he's starting to make some money, he can pay off the debt and then get his own place and move out. He's not the type to mooch on others, he wants to pay for himself._

"Yeah, well here's the deal until you find one: we have four currencies here: gas, grass, cash, or ass. I'm all set on gas and grass, and I'm pretty certain you don't have a penny to your name, so that leaves you with one option."

Barricade stares at the bot with bright optics, stupefied. He feels his own intake hang open. _Is the mech seriously proposing that he should pay rent with his frame?! He is, isn't he? Gross fucking bastard!_

"No! _Not_ going to happen!" Barricade says heatedly. _He's _not _a _whore_!_

"Suit yourself, but the couch ain't free anymore. Either you stay the nights in _my_ berth, or you don't stay at all."

"I'm _not _going to interface with you as payment." The Interceptor grinds out.

"Then you know where the door is." Hide says, crossing his arms, and raising an optical ridge in challenge. 


	57. Chapter 57

Barricade glares back for several seconds, wanting to defy the mech. _How coldsparked has someone got to be to kick a mech to the curb to be homeless? What kind of fucked up values does the bastard have to see interfacing as currency?_ But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that there isn't anything he can do about it. 

_He's in Ironhide's territory, and the mech could probably fling him over the wall if he tries to defy the order of leaving. Or the mech can just have one of his even bigger goons do it for him. Or something even worse. Dead mechs don't complain and make scenes..._

The Saleen slowly turns around, walking towards the door with heavy pedes, feeling those optics burning against his back. Out the door, down the stairs and down the driveway. The mech at the gates open for him, and when the heavy gates to the compound slam shut behind him, he knows that they won't open again.

The Interceptor transforms and drives away, not sure what to do. He has no money, and still nowhere to go. His so called partner from back in the day definitely won't help, and while the parole officer he has gotten seems to be pretty much the same kind of stickler for following the rules, helpful, he is not. Barricade has had one meeting and already dislikes the mech with a passion, because he seems more likely to try to find a reason to throw him back in jail than helping him get back on his pedes and have his situation settled.

He drives around for a while, moving away from the area Jazz normally works — Ironhide's territory — but that make's him burn through his fuel quicker, so when dusk begins to settle, he transforms into root mode again, trying to figure out where to spend the night. The mechs of the night starts to fill the alleys and corners, peddling their frames and various substances, and his paint job is dragging their attention to him, optics glaring warily from the shadows.

_It would be so easy to pretend, to pressure one of them into giving up any fuel they have, or maybe a bag of astro-weed. He really would like to numb himself a bit for the long night he's doubtlessly in for._


	58. Chapter 58

He moves in on a lanky mech, going for the casual approach. "Hello," he purrs smoothly. The mech looks warily at him as he approaches, "do you have any samples of weed?" Barricade asks. _That was usually the que that made them hand over anything they had._

"I do." The mech says nervously and hands over a bag with a thin cygar. Barricade grabs it, about to walk away when the mech speaks again. "Hey, it's two credits."

"What?" The Saleen looks incredulously at him. _He never had to pay for stuff like that before. They were always just glad that he didn't bring them in._

"Please don't arrest me! I-I, they won't let me hand it out for free..." The mech's voice trembles when he speaks, optics shifting around nervously, and now Barricade notices how dented he is.

"Who won't let you give away a sample? It's either that, or I'm going to arrest you. Want to go to prison? I bet the mechs in there really would enjoy getting some new shareware." _If the mech really thinks that he's an Enforcer, he isn't going to correct that misconception._

The mech doesn't answer, and his optics lock on something behind Barricade. The pleasurebot backs away until his back hits the wall. "_Please,_ Berserker, I-I'm just negotiating the price..." He cries out, clearly frightened.

Barricade swings around to find a massive mech approaching them. The Saleen instinctively backs away too, because the behemoth looks lethal, and his field spreads a sense of impending doom.

"Shut up, you stupid skank." Berserker growls, the buymech whimpering where he's pressed against the wall. 

A heavy backhand lands across the pleasurebot's face-plates, and he crumples to the ground, sobbing in terror. Barricade stares in shock, because he wasn't prepared for that to happen so openly. Then Berserker turns to Barricade, sharp optics zone in on him, and the Saleen has much bigger problems than the public slapping around of a pleasurebot. 

"You're not a _real_ cop, so you better stop tricking my merchandise, or I'll make you a helm shorter, and nobody is _ever_ going to find what's left of your pathetic little frame." The pimp snarls at Barricade, guns onlining.


	59. Chapter 59

Barricade does what seems the wisest: he runs for his functioning. Transforming into alt mode, he doesn't hesitate to burn most of what's left in his tank to get away from what seems like certain deactivation. The mech gives chase at first, shouting about giving the sample back, before transforming into his alt mode, but Barricade doesn't even want to stay long enough to do that, so he flees.

The ex-Enforcer eventually finds an alley to hide in, hopefully far enough away from Berserker's territory, and he sits down, leaning against the wall to save what fuel he has left, vents still ragged, and his fans spinning quickly to cool his frame.

He lights up the cygar, and invents deeply through it. _So much for staying clean now that he's newly released._ The weed brings a very welcome calming effect, and he relaxes against the wall, leaning his helm against it to stare at the cloudy skies while his spark slows down to normal revs. His situation seems less dire, but logically, he knows that it's just chemical relief. He really needs a plan to get some cash, to get someplace to live.

"Hey! Dis is _our_ turf!" A small mech shouts.

Barricade rolls his optics, because the mech swaggering down the alley can hardly be more than a symbiont at best, but then another one shows up, and then another. They creep out of the corners, from the dark behind the dumpsters, a couple dropping from the overhead fire escapes, sliding down the drainpipes. _They're so many._ Small, dirty, and dented, but they have the numbers to make themselves a problem, and a cunning glitter to their optics that tells Barricade to not underestimate them. _In spite of their small statures, they're still making it out here, which is more than can be said about him at the moment._

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm not trying to intrude or anything, I just needed to sit down for a while." He tries to placate what is essentially a horde. _Can't he just have a two minute break from everyone?_

"I accept dat. How 'bout we do a deal? My friend 'as got some nice tings to lece dat smoke wit', ta cut it wit. We do dat, and share da smoke, and ya get one of our cubes of energon."


	60. Chapter 60

It's a really good deal, since Barricade has no energon, and he really needs it after the chase that made him burn through a lot of fuel. Barricade nods.

The tiny gang leader seems pleased when the Interceptor puts the cyg out and hands it to the mech who's pulling out a bottle of a sickly green liquid. It's poured into the cygar, and then it's handed to the leader. A cube is taken out of someones subspace and handed to Barricade, tiny, of course, but better than nothing. The other mechs take out their own cubes and sit down around Barricade. 

The leader lights up the cyg, taking a deep drag before handing it to Barricade. The Saleen takes a testing invent. 

_It's bitter beneath the sweetness of the weed, but it's still good enough, and he can feel the punch behind it. Good. They're many sharing it, and he really wants the effect._

Barricade hands it over to the next mech, and it does a round between them all before he gets it back for the next smoke. It's very numbing — much stronger than just the weed — but in a perfect way. He doesn't feel too out of it, _even if his face-plates are starting to feel pretty numb_, but it certainly makes it much easier to handle that he's sitting outside in an alley, and that this is going to be his recharging quarters for the night. _At least he's not alone._

He grabs the cube and takes a sip. It's very good. Tangy and sweet, a type of energon he has never had before. He tells the leader so, and something sly passes the little mech's face-plates, a knowing smirk that holds secrets. They toast — why, he can't really tell, because they're still sitting in a dirty alley, and he still has nowhere to go when the energon and the cyg is gone, but it feels right anyway — and Barricade watches as the cyg does another lap around the crowd before he gets it again.


	61. Chapter 61

The energon must pack it's own punch, or it reacts with the weed, and the stuff the cyg is laced with, because Barricade is feeling very drowsy by the time the smoke has done another round and he takes the next hit. He's almost getting to a point where everything around him is fading, as if all his senses are slowly being turned down. 

Everything is so blurry, and he thinks that two of his optics might've shut down, but he isn't sure, because he fails to keep track of which feed is from which optic and it's wildly confusing. Whatever the mechs around him are saying, he can't make it out, because his audials seem to be malfunctioning, and whatever sound they are picking up is distorted by a strange echoing effect. The little mechs' dialect doesn't make it easier to understand what they're saying. _Are they even really speaking neocybex, or is it some other language?_

Someone says something, and the group barks with raucous laughter. It's contagious, and he joins in, even if the Mustang doesn't even know what they are laughing about. _He doesn't need to know, everything is just so funny._

Barricade tips back to stretch out on the ground staring up towards a sky he can't see through his intoxicated haze. _Is this right? It feels good, but should he really react this strongly to a little energon and a tiny amount of drugs? The small mechs seem fine..._ He can't focus on that line of thought for long, though. _Shouldn't the ground feel cold against his back? But he is kind of numb, isn't he? At least his pedes are. Probably, because he can't really tell if he even has pedes anymore. In fact, it seems like he's sinking into himself, or maybe into a black hole? Whatever it is, it's swallowing his floating self, however that works? He can't levitate, now can he?_

_He's so fragging tired..._


	62. Chapter 62

Morning brings bright light, and crushing helmache, and Barricade groans when he reboots, still stretched out on the ground. The gang of little mechs is gone, and he slowly starts to move, working out his aching joints, stiff from spending a cold night in an awkward position on the ground. _His subspace pockets are open and empty. Not that there was much in them to begin with, though..._ Every single one of them is completely empty, save for some metal shavings he hasn't bothered to clean out, and the packet which used to hold a few expired condoms. _They stole those. _The pockets facing up are partially filled with the mildly acidic rain that has obviously fallen sometime during the night, and it itches.

He feels so fucking stupid, on top of freezing, and his wicked hangover. The only upside is that they didn't do worse things to his frame while he was out. _They could've stolen parts, or used him in other ways, but he seems intact and unmolested._

Barricade clambers to his pedes, bending forward to empty his sloshing pockets, even though the motion makes him dizzy, and his helm throbs painfully. He quickly stretches again, closing all his pockets, but the motion makes his tank turn, and equally quick, he bends forward again, dry heaving. The quick motion makes his gyros go haywire, and all of a sudden, he's sprawled on the ground again. 

"Carrier, what is he doing?" A small voice asks from the mouth of the alley that leads into the wider street.

"Shh. He's probably on something. Hurry up, you can't trust mechs like that. They might rob you, or hurt you." The mechling's carrier hisses, urging the little one to walk faster.

"But he fell. Maybe he hurt himself..."

"Serves him right. He shouldn't use drugs. I'm calling the Enforcers. Mechs like that should be rounded up and put away."

They disappear out of sight, and Barricade clambers to his pedes as quickly as he can, then he leaves the alley. _If the mech is really calling the Enforcers, he better get going. _The Saleen stops in the street, wondering where to go. _Not anywhere Berserker might show up, because he does not feel like getting beaten to slag, and right now he wouldn't be able to run anywhere at all._ His fuel levels are quite low, the gague soon dipping into red, and he feels dirty after a night outside.

_He needs something to clean himself with — especially his subspace pockets — and some fuel._ But he has no money, and nothing to sell, so what is he supposed to do? Barricade starts walking again — slowly to save fuel — and because he has nowhere to go anyway. It isn't until afternoon the Saleen winds up somewhere that has him halting. 

_A supermarket._


	63. Chapter 63

Standing just outside the entrance, Barricade dawdles for quite some time. 

_Should he beg the passersby for some fuel? Just a tiny treat to keep him from falling into stasis?_ _A credit, so he can buy himself something?_

The thought is humiliating, so very degrading, and he really tries to come up with a different idea. But the advertisements for different sorts of energon, the pictures of all the goodies on sale, the smiling mech with clean, polished, shiny plating telling him about what wax is the best is so alluring. 

_And the thin layer of acid in his subspace is itching, and he's afraid of it affecting the subspace generator if he doesn't clean up, because the risk is very real, and it would be much harder to deal with than mere acid residue. Especially since he have nothing to pay a medic with._

The Mustang takes a steeling vent, and then he walks through the doors. He knows that he's looking rather bedraggled, but there's other mechs who are less than perfectly polished too, so hopefully, he shouldn't attract too much attention. 

Barricade walks along the rows of shelves, and the sheer amount of products is almost overwhelming after his time in prison. He hasn't been inside a store like this since before he was locked up. 

He finds the washing supplies first. The Mustang stares at the bottles of solvent, the waxes and scented polishes, and he wants them all, wants to get into a washrack, and clean and polish himself for an entire day, because the last time he had a good, really long shower was before he was put away, and the daydream is so alluring. Then he spots the boxes of solvent-enriched wipes, and putting fantasies of luxurious showers aside, he knows that he can at least satisfy the need for wiping his pockets clean from the itchy residue with those. Glancing around, he snags a pack and quickly subspaces it, then he hurriedly leaves that isle, spark spinning wildly in his chest. 

_He has never shoplifted before. Way to go to start a new life on probation._

It feels like everyone is staring at him now that he has hot merchandise in his pocket, so when it comes to fuel, Barricade quickly turns down the first isle that's empty of mechs, just randomly grabbing two bags of solid treats as he passes by, jamming them into a different pocket. Then he heads for the exit.


	64. Chapter 64

"Excuse me, Sir!" A clerk calls out to him.

Barricade ignores him, pretends that he doesn't hear the mech, and walks even faster. The mech speeds up, calling for him again.

"You don't have what I was looking for. I need to go now." Barricade says over his shoulder, hoping the mech is just overzealous about customer service.

"We have everything, Sir. Would you please stop?"

"I'm running late, I have to go."

"Call security." He hears the clerk following him saying to another employee as he passes.

_Frag!_

The Saleen starts running, hoping that he has enough fuel in his tank to get away. _Wouldn't it be a very pathetic defeat to steal fuel, and then not getting a chance to even eat it and fall into stasis while trying to flee and get caught? To go back to jail within a couple of weeks, and for _shoplifting _of all things? For stealing stuff worth less than ten credits, stuff he needs to even survive to see the inside of a cell again._

Barricade pushes himself, ignoring the warnings, but as he gets closer to the registers, he sees security coming to intercept him, and the Saleen turns sharply, running for the entrance. The guards speed up, trying to catch up with him, and for dragged out seconds of warnings about his fuel consumption, and a spark spinning like crazy, he's certain that he won't make it, because the entrance has one-way doors, opening for customers coming in, but not for mechs going out. 

He still runs through the flimsy electronic gates, setting of the alarm, and he's forced to bowl a shiny looking racer over, tackling his way out as the door opens to let the other mech in. Barricade trips over the downed mech who's cursing wildly, but he manages to stagger on, and then he's free. Transforming into his alt mode, he guns his engine and runs so hard, the risk of sudden stasis is very real.


	65. Chapter 65

Security probably stays in the shop, since they don't have any jurisdiction outside it, but the risk of them calling the Enforcers keeps him running anyway, because he does not want to be found after that debacle. _They'd probably add aggravated assault for him shouldering his way out, on top of the shoplifting, and the drugs they would find in his systems. He'd be back in jail by the end of the day, and parole would not be granted a second time after this epic fail._

When the fuel gauge in his HUD is blinking an angry red warning, Barricade finally stops, and he ducks into an alley, desperately devouring the treats he stole. They're not nearly enough; in his haste to just randomly grab something, the Interceptor got a very light and puffy sort, and they do little to fill his tank. The gauge hardly leaves the red zone.

The wipes do the trick to get his pockets clean at least, so that's a discomfort and a worry to file away as history, but night is drawing closer by the minute, and Barricade isn't keen on a repeat of last night. _Not even a version without being drugged and robbed._

He has precious few options. _Either he swallows his pride, and go begging, but the chances of him getting enough cash to stay in a motel seems slim to none. Even the simple garages, mere cubicals for recharging in alt mode is too expensive to possibly be within the amount he may get by begging_. The Saleen has nothing to sell... _Except his frame._ Barricade grimaces at the thought. It's very unpalatable to think about trying to lure some creep in, and letting someone use him like that in a dirty alley. He carefully takes a detour around the thought of kharmic retribution, considering what landed him in this situation in the first place.

_He could try to steal something to sell, but then he'd need to actually sell it to get some money, so that's a slower process. Robbing someone is... He's too easily recognizable like this, with this optic catching paint job. If he's unlucky enough that the mechs in the supermarket care to report the shoplifting, he will easily be found in the records when described. But if he's lucky for once, and that the shop owner doesn't bother for such a petty infraction, and he isn't wanted for something yet, then robbing someone would certainly catch the attention of the law enforcement to which he does not belong anymore, and a warrant would go out to all precincts. No, robbing is out of the question._


	66. Chapter 66

_So, it's either spending another night outside in an alley, hoping to get through it without going into stasis from fuel deprivation, or being jumped by someone worse than those small bastards. Or going back to ask if Hide's offer still stands. Joy._

The mere thought of crawling back to ask Ironhide for help leaves a bitter taste in his intake, but he needs fuel soon, or he really is likely to go into stasis, and that would be the end of him, because nobody will come looking, so his frame will be open game for someone wanting to strip him for parts. Or for the underground rings of slavers he has heard of, looking for easy pickings to traffic. _At least, he will just need to put out to one mech, instead of trying to peddle himself to all and sundry, and Hide probably will let him wash up too. And he will get to stay in a berth, even if it's with entirely unwanted company._

Feeling utterly defeated, he transforms into his altmode and slowly drives down the streets back to the compound. The gate is closed as usual, and a couple of goons are sitting in sturdy chairs in the dusty driveway, playing some sort of card game. Barricade stops outside, indecisive, working up the nerve to go through with this, while his processor is frantically trying to come up with an alternative plan. _One that doesn't involve him interfacing with a pimp._

"Hey, _cop! _The frag are you looking at?" The massive rotary growls, rising from his seat to tower over Barricade even from where he stands inside the gates. "The Chief was here this morning, making apologies for the very inconvenient raid we were subjected to on _false accusations_, so I suggest you move along before your boss needs to be informed that you're hassling us for no good reason."

"He ain't no cop, B.O, he ain't got no service signs." The other black mech says, not bothering to get up. "And you lost this round. Pay up, rotor bot!" He adds with a cackle, throwing his cards on the table.

Barricade draws a deep vent to steel himself for the worst request of his functioning.

"I'm not a cop, but I came to see Hide? I, ah, tell him it's Barricade." He mumbles, staring at the ground, wondering if those two are aware of what he's about to do.


	67. Chapter 67

The Helo just stares at him for a long time, but then he nods. "He'll be right down." Then he takes his seat again, dismissing the Saleen from his interest while the gates open to let Barricade through.

A big pick-up comes running down from the house, transforming into the gang boss Barricade is about to offer his frame to. His optics sweep Barricade's frame, and there's a tingle that's probably a scan, but Ironhide doesn't say anything. No, he just stares at Barricade, waiting for the small mech to start speaking, raising an optical ridge in question.

_He just can't get the words out, can't ask if the mech still is interested in fucking him as payment for a rent and fuel._

"I find it very interesting that we were raided by enforcement the same night you left. How do I know you weren't the one making the complaint to be a spiteful little bitch just because I don't hand out stuff for free?" Ironhide finally rumbles, face-plates going stony, crossing his massive arms.

Barricade's spark speeds up. _He didn't do it, but what if Ironhide doesn't believe him? _

"I-I didn't... I don't know _anything_ about that! Please, you _have_ to believe me. If nothing else, believe that I wouldn't put Jazz at risk like that." He tries, hoping that it'll be enough. 

"I really hope so. For your sake. I'm sure you've heard the expression 'snitches end up in ditches' before..." Ironhide says, glaring at him.

Barricade makes a tiny noise of fear, hearing how ridiculous he sounds, and entirely too scared to find it in himself to care. "Please, you have to believe me; I know nothing about that. I _swear!"_

"So what brings you here then, _Barricade?_"

"Your proposition..." _saying it is like pulling denta_, "is it still valid?"

Ironhide says nothing, but his intake curls into a smirk as he watches the obviously struggling Interceptor.

"I-I... _Please!_ I need some place to stay, and I do need fuel, and I... I have nowhere else to go. I really need the deal you can offer." 

_Ugh. Crawling in on his empty belly, groveling to the pimp to _please_ use his frame. How far he has fallen._

The mech's smirk stretches into a grin. "Yeah, I'll trade you... _fulfillment of your essential needs_ for your _company_. Come on, let's get you inside." Hide says, putting an arm around Barricade's waist, a servo slipping down to squeeze his aft.

"So hot! Hide sure knows how to rope all the pretty ones." One of the mechs on guard duty whispers wistfully to the other mech.

Barricade forces himself not to shudder. _It's not like the big mech is being very suave, or has charmed him into his berth. Hide just has what he needs, and he has no other options than to go through with this transaction of favors._ He swallows queasily when he thinks of the kind of favors.

"First of all, you're going to the washracks, because you smell even worse than you look. Then I'll hook you up with some fuel. I think you need some energy to handle me." There's a distinct leer in Hide's voice.

"I don't want to be pushy," Barricade says, afraid to overstep the lines, "but my fuel gauge has been blinking since late afternoon. Could I please have a little something first? I don't want to fall into stasis in the shower."


	68. Chapter 68

Hide nods as they step through the door, his optics scanning the area. "Drift! a cube!" He barks loudly, holdings a servo up.

A mech with prominent helm fins hurriedly gets a cube from the bar and comes up to them, presenting it to Hide with a saucy smirk, a sideways glance at Barricade with a quick once over the only way he acknowledges the newcomer's presence.

"For him," Ironhide says, tilting his helm in Barricade's direction, "this is Barricade, he's new here."

Something sharp glints in Drift's optics when he looks at Barricade, gone so fast Barricade can't pinpoint what it means, and then the Racer hands Barricade the cube.

"Nice to meet you, Barricade." He says sweetly, plastering a smile on his face-plates in a way that must be long practiced, because it looks genuine while his field says that it's not. _Not it feels like he's hostile either, just some sort of... Reluctance?_

"Nice to meet you too, Drift." Barricade says, forcing himself to not stare at how the mech's interface panel is shamelessly left open. 

_Staring probably wouldn't earn him any bonus points, and Drift already seems to dislike him for some reason._

The Speedster dismisses him with a distracted nod, immediately looking back to Ironhide as the big mech lets go of Barricade. Another flirtatious smile blooms on Drift's pretty face as soon as his optics are on Ironhide again. The Saleen drinks greedily from the cube and looks around, not wanting to intrude on the conversation Drift is having with Hide. 

Barricade always left when Jazz did, before the other inhabitants of the house slithered out of whatever hole they spend the days in, and then he didn't come back until most of them had disappeared for the night. It's surprisingly crowded at this time, and even if it's just a Tuesday like any other, he still gets the feeling of it being a party night. There's high grade, and cygars being had, and everyone seem relaxed, enjoying themselves. Then he catches how Drift is pouting about Hide being _busy for the night_, even though he isn't trying to listen in on their conversation. Reality takes over where his curiosity momentarily made him forget the situation he's in.

_It's not like he wants Hide to be busy all night, he'd happily hand that over to Drift, if the Speedster wants it so badly. He'd be more than fine with taking the couch again. But alas, that's just not in his cards._

Taking another deep swig, he tries to push away the thoughts of what is going to happen soon, and the apprehension those thoughts bring.


	69. Chapter 69

There's mechs loitering on the couches and in the chairs in the rec room, all of them wearing that red face badge on their chests.

_Except Drift. His mark isn't a badge, but an etching on the small of his back. A tramp stamp. Ugh._

Barricade notices it when he turns back to Hide and finds Drift pressed up against him. The big mech looks at Barricade over Drift's shoulder and sees that he has drained the fuel. He pats Drift's aft and gently guides him to step back and turn around, motioning for Drift to take the empty cube. The Speedster does it without protest, but with another sharp glare and a slip of his carefully controlled field, and now Barricade realizes why. _He really is jealous._

Ironhide's arm wraps around him, and they start towards the stairs again, but they haven't taken many steps before someone calls out to Ironhide again. The big mech smirks, field flickering with amusement.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." Ironhide tells Barricade. 

Then he heads for the black and green mech stretched out on one of the couches, one leg hooked over the back of the couch, one hanging over the edge of the seat. The mech flashes Hide a saucy grin, arching his back slightly to show off his chest-plates as Ironhide approaches.

Barricade can't help but stare as Ironhide bends down to get closer to the mech, a few quiet words exchanged as Ironhide slips a servo between the other mech's spread legs, the plating on his lower arm shifting as he apparently works the mech's array. The green mech tugs him closer for a kiss, then he falls back, servos sliding down his front to join Hide's servo, an almost dopey smile on his face.

Hide lets the mech take over, and then comes back to Barricade, who's still trying his best to not outright stare at the mech who's now playing with himself, apparently enjoying the hungry optics of the gathered mechs who have all their attention on him. 

_This is a whole new level of depravity compared to the street walkers he knew, or even the exotic dance clubs he has been to before. And he's playing his part in it now._


	70. Chapter 70

Hide wraps his arm around Barricade again, servo on the Interceptor's aft, and guides him towards the stairs, and Barricade half hopes that someone will interrupt them yet again. The Saleen sees the raised optical ridges, the leers of those seated around the room, practically feels the optics sweeping his frame, making his plating crawl.

"Have fun, boss." Someone snickers.

"I sure will." Ironhide rumbles.

He lets go of Barricade when they reach the foot of the stairs, patting the Saleen's aft to get him going. "I'll hang back and admire the view. Mh, your aft sure is a sight to behold."

_Ugh._

With heavy steps, Barricade walks up the stairs, Ironhide following a few steps behind. _Staring at his aft._

"The door at the end of the hallway." The gang leader rumbles in his audial. 

Barricade walks down the hallway, past the other closed doors, pedes sinking into the thick, luxurious carpet that's probably a pricey replica of the original one, installed as a tribute to the opulence of this house's past and apparently present. The Saleen briefly wonders about that promised shower, because he knows that the washracks are downstairs, in the wing Jazz lives in, but he keeps walking towards the door, feeling like he's walking to his execution. _Or at the very least the painful removal of what's left of his dignity._

The doors slide open with a quiet hiss when he reaches it, and he steps through into a large suite, dimly lit by designer LEDs, and furnished with what is clearly not furniture from some local outlet or second hand store. _It's like something straight out of one of the TV shows about the houses of the celebrities. _The huge berth catches his optics, and his processor supplies him with a very unwelcome picture of himself there, sprawled on his back underneath the behemoth of a mech, selling his frame for sleeping in a berth, a few cubes of fuel, and a shower. 

_Oh, how very far he has fallen._


	71. Chapter 71

"Washracks are in there. Use whatever solvent you want. I'll wait here." Ironhide says, grabbing a data pad before taking a seat in one of the comfiest looking chairs Barricade has ever seen.

The spray of solvent does lift his spirits a bit, and if he offlines his optics, he can almost pretend that he isn't getting ready for spreading his legs for a pimp. 

_Focus on the shower, the luxury you were fantasizing about while stealing wet wipes. This washrack is fancier than any you've ever seen before. Enjoy that._

The ensuite washracks _are_ luxurious, and this definitely has been the master berthroom at one point in the history of the building. _Still is, in a way, with the top pimp living here._

_Shower. Focus._

Way back, when this was a fancy neighborhood, this place probably teemed with servants — and slaves — to take good care of the nobles. How little things have changed, really. It's different, but still the same. And he's a part of it, until he manages to find a real job.

_Shower! Hot solvent! Fancy wax schampoo!_

Deciding to grab the Topkick by the smokestacks — because he can't fully enjoy the shower anyway, and he's getting more nervous by the minute — Barricade rinses off the last of the solvent, clean and actually feeling slightly better than before, and he grabs a cloth to dry himself. The door to the washracks is left open, but at least Ironhide has given him the courtesy of not staring at him throughout his shower.

His spark spinning wildly with nerves, Barricade walks into the berthroom, coming to stand in the middle of the floor, not certain what's expected. He feels small, vulnerable, and pathetically inexperienced, and in way over his helm when Ironhide looks up from his data pad, optics sweeping Barricade's frame.

_Should he just open his panels and crawl onto the berth? Or will Ironhide want some kind of show? Like what the mech downstairs was performing when they left?_


	72. Chapter 72

The Topkick walks in a slow circle around him to appraise his frame, then Ironhide comes to a stop in front of him. Barricade swallows nervously. _This is it._ He can't bring himself to look the mech in the optics, so he stares at broad chest-plates, and well polished chrome trimmings around a rather good-looking grill. 

Hide's servo comes up to nudge his chin, tilting his helm back to finally meet his optics. Barricade is so tense, his hydraulics are screaming with built up pressure.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." His optics slither down Barricades frame. "You really are a very pretty mech." 

The compliment surprises the Interceptor, because he expected the brute to say something crude, expected leering, but it doesn't take away the fact that this is a business transaction.

"Hurt or not, this is entirely unwanted." Barricade grinds out between clenched denta, just to regret the comment as soon as it's out.

_He was trying to not seem scared shitless, which he is, but it came out way too challenging, and he's so helpless, always so fucking helpless when someone wants to fuck him, and he had repressed how vulnerable and scared he felt every time, the revulsion of being touched, and used. The self hatred over what a slut he is, letting mechs fuck him. _Now, all of that is bubbling to the surface_._

Ironhide smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his optics. "I assure you that things could be so much worse."

"That's debatable."

"Look here, I'll make this good for you if you just allow yourself to enjoy it. Relax, have some fun. We'll both get off, and then a good night's recharge. Just two mechs having a good time, nothing wrong with that."

"It doesn't change the fact that this is a business arrangement."

Something flicker across Ironhide's face-plates, so fast Barricade can't pinpoint the emotion, but then the Topkick's face hardens. 

"_You_ were the one to come back to _ask_ for this. But if that's the way _you_ choose to perceive this," a thick digit taps at Barricade's interface plate, "then open up and show me the _merchandise_."


	73. Chapter 73

The Saleen reels his field in, and offlines his optics when he opens the panel to expose his array. Spark spinning wildly, he waits for touches, but nothing happens. He onlines one optic to look at Hide, frowning in confusion. Ironhide smirks at him and cocks an optical ridge, clearly amused.

"That's a very pretty piece of equipment. May I touch?" He asks, servo hovering inches from Barricade's bared array.

_No. _"Go ahead." _It's inevitable anyway, might as well get it over with, so he can get another cube, and go to recharge._

Thick digits is pushed through his uncomfortably dry folds, and then one of them is pushed into his valve, slowly going deeper and deeper, until the movement suddenly stops, the tip of the finger hitting a barrier. The pressure is uncomfortable, and it reminds him all too much about the first time he... _No, don't think about that. Not now, not ever._ What catches Barricade's attention when he pushes the memory to the side is Ironhide's astonished look.

"You're sealed."

"Yes." _Is that a problem? He didn't even think about that possibility. Is he going to be kicked out for that?_

"You've never interfaced before?"

"Not that way." He says, spark spinning with nerves. "Not in this frame." He mutters, pointedly not thinking about the interfacing he did do in his last frame.

"Then you don't have precautions installed either?"

"Uhm... No?" 

"Primus damn it." Ironhide growls, clearly annoyed. "Come on. We're going for a drive."


	74. Chapter 74

The Topkick leads the way through the neighborhood, flanked by a massive black Truck, and a sleek silver Racer who were already waiting for them in the driveway when they got out. Barricade drives between the two others, behind Ironhide, and he does notice the way the other mechs on the road give way to them as they drive by. Not once do they need to break formation. _It's even more tangible than when he still was an Enforcer, and people tended to give way. _

They stop outside a clinic, the building standing out with how neat and clean the windows are compared to the surrounding shops and business. They all step through the doors into the waiting room, and Barricade feels kind of ridiculous, considering the appointment is obviously for him, and he has no less than three mechs coming with him to the doctor. More than ever accompanied him when he was a sparkling. _Whatever he's doing here._

A bright yellow bot with medic insignias step into the waiting room.

"Oh, _you."_ He tersely addresses Hide, servos on his hips. "What is it this time? Another gunshot wound? A raging epidemic of cybernetic Chlamydia among your ranks?"

The Topkick snorts and indicates Barricade with his thumb. "Pretty mech over there needs a few mods and upgrades.

The medic looks him up and down, and Barricade squirms under his intense gaze. _He doesn't know what he ever did to the Medic, but he is clearly pissed off. Maybe it's because he knows that Barricade is going to whore himself out and disapproves of an Enforcer doing such a thing? _

_Ex-Enforcer. A whore now._

_Like he has a choice! But what could this well polished medic possibly know about falling so far?_

"Drift says 'Hi'. He's a demanding little mech, but between all of us, we can keep him fairly satisfied." Ironhide leers.

The medic makes a face.

"You should come see him. I'm sure he'd love to take you for a ride. On the house, of course."

The medics servo trembles violently around the wrench he's holding, and for a moment, Barricade is certain that he's going to throw it at Hide. Ironhide's arm transforms into a huge cannon, and he spins it meaningfully, smirking insolently at the Medic, raising an optical ridge in challenge.

"Remember how your clinic is never looted or vandalized these days? Security is expensive... And right now, that little sweet butt needs a few mods ASAP."

"Right. This way." The medic's voice is thin with fury when he addresses Barricade, spinning on his heel, leading the way into the next room, apparently eager to leave that conversation behind. "I'm Ratchet, by the way."


	75. Chapter 75

"_You_ don't need to be here for this." Ratchet swivels around again, crossing his arms when he grinds the words out to Ironhide, who has followed them into the exam room.

"I think I do. He's one of _my_ mechs, and I want to know that he does the things that should be done. He's not getting a chance to hide behind lies, and your patient confidentiality. Or would you rather have me let Knockie do it? You know he lost his certification a long time ago, and his tools have seen better days, but he does live under my roof..."

Barricade bristles. _He's not anyone's mech but his own, thank you very much, and his cop honor would make him do what is being asked without supervision._

_Yeah, the same cop honor that landed you in this mess? _

_Shut up. It's not like he has a choice but to go along with whatever Hide wants._ Then the Saleen startles. _What kind of modifications is it, exactly, that the mech wants him to have?_

Ratchet grimaces, gearing up for an argument, and while the chivalry is rather endearing, Barricade's deal is still hanging in the balance, and this will hardly be more mortifying than whatever the rest of the night will hold for him. _At least the rest of the posse stayed in the waiting room for this._

"It's fine, Hide can stay." He says, not believing that he actually uttered the words.

The Medic glares at him, scrutinizing him closely. "Fine. On the berth, spread your legs, and open your panel." He finally says.

"Install a bolt in his gestational chamber, update his antivirals, and give him the upgraded protocols for spike control that everyone new gets." Hide rattles off the order, as if Barricade isn't even there.

Ratchet grumbles something unintelligible, takes something out of a drawer, and sits down with Barricade's array in full view. The Saleen resists the urge to close his legs. Digits slick with lubricant slides into his valve, then the Medic pulls them out again, helm snapping around to glare at Ironhide.

"For frags sake, he's _sealed!_"

"I noticed." Ironhide says dryly. "Remove that. I don't care much for breaking it anyway. Completely overrated, just makes for a lot of bitching, and that one is definitely a whiner. I already know that I'm the first one to defile him." 

"You've never interfaced before?" Ratchet asks Barricade, voice much softer.

"Not since my last reformat."

The Medics optics flare. "But with your previous frame?"

"Yes. Didn't like it, never felt the urge to try it again."

"Are you sure you want to do this? Taking the seal out is more comfortable than keeping it for sure, but I'm not talking about that; I mean giving your first time away for... Well, you know."

_Hell no! He really doesn't want to sell his valve, no matter if it's the first time or the hundredth._

"Yes." 

_But it isn't like he has any options._


	76. Chapter 76

When they walk back into the house, the first thing Barricade sees is the green and black mech and Drift making out on the table. He can't help but stop to gawk. The big truckformer who followed them to the clinic — Motormaster — whistles. Ironhide rumbles a laugh and stops to look appreciatively at the two mechs.

The green mech breaks the heated kiss to throw his helm back, moaning loudly, when Drift's servo thrusts between his legs. Drift's own hips are jerking rhythmically, because clearly the favor is being returned.

Barricade feels an unfamiliar heaviness between his legs, his own array heating up at the sight, and there's this strange wet feeling.

_It's probably just lubricant from the examination, and the heaviness is just the bolt Ratchet mounted in his chamber. He still feels a bit strange from that._

"Those two sure know how to enjoy themselves." Hide murmurs in his audial, and Barricade can't tell if it's a barb or just an amused comment.

Digits tease the base of his shoulder-wing, and a shiver of unexpected pleasure trickle down his back-struts to settle between his legs when the sensitive components are stimulated with surprising skill. His new protocols ping him a request if his spike should be primed, and it's a distasteful reminder of how he has been turned into a valve mech now. He pushes that thought away, focusing on the mechs putting on a show, even if it feels like too private a moment to stare at.

_They do seem to have a very good time though, shamelessly ignoring all the optics following their every move. Because surely they can't be _enjoying_ the attention?_

_Sure they can. They're whores. Just like you. Modified to fit the desires of others. Look at you, going all wet._

"Dibs on Cross' valve when the fucking starts." The silver Racer called Sideswipe yells from the door.

"You get seconds! Nitro already called it."

"This is getting me revved up. Come on. Let's go upstairs." Ironhide murmurs in Barricade's audial.

It puts a damper on Barricade's arousal, but it's not quite enough to fully squash it, and he lets his optics linger on the couple on the table even as they climb the stairs.


	77. Chapter 77

"So, you haven't interfaced when in this frame, and you didn't enjoy it before. Was it so bad, you never wanted to try again?" Ironhide asks when the door slides shut behind them, and they're alone in Ironhide's suite.

_Do they really have to talk about this? Can't the Bruiser just fuck him, and get it over with?_

His spark is starting to speed up with nerves, and his very being is screaming at him to just bolt out that door and leave this behind, and it feels like it's either fucking before he loses what nerve he has, or fleeing.

_Coward_.

"Step-sire took my seal, when I was newly reformatted into my last youngling frame. It hurt, and was humiliating, and I hated it. The first time, and every single time after that."

Something hard and dangerous crosses Ironhide's faceplates before he schools his expression, but Barricade is still taken aback. The mech looked absolutely lethal for a moment, and there's a lot about this mech that Barricade still doesn't know. Ironhide is resolute in his demands, but he has not been violent or truly forceful to the Saleen so far, even if he was a bit intimidating before he let him in.

"I won't hurt you, that I promise you. If it hurts, you tell me, alright? I wont kick you out for not just shutting up and taking it. If you need me to give you a break, I will."

Barricade nods hesitantly. _It sounds good, but the question is for how long Ironhide would go along with that before he gets tired of it and kicks him out anyway. And Ironhide said nothing about the humiliation, just that he won't hurt him. Better just get it over with._

"Come here." Ironhide waves him over, already crawling onto the berth, sprawling with an easy confidence that makes Barricade even more nervous.

Without finesse, Barricade joins him on the berth, crawling in a decidedly unsexy way, and he plunks down on his back next to the big mech, stiff and nervous, feeling very vulnerable.

A servo slides down his front, and he forces his panel to open again. Digits find his folds still slightly slick after his reaction to the show the other mechs put on in the rec room, and Barricade can't help but gasp when Hide expertly finds a very sensitive nub just above his valve.

"Relax, my mech. I'll show you a good time."


	78. Chapter 78

He has overloaded around those digits two times when he's nudged to roll over on his front, and it's confusing and alarming that he actually kind of enjoyed that. It did feel good. 

_Liked being fingered by the pimp he's selling his frame to. How can he enjoy that? His step-sire was right all those years ago, he really is a slut._

"On all fours. I want to see that sweet little aft, and those pretty shoulder-wings while I fuck you." Ironhide grunts.

Barricade's spark starts to spin quickly, but now it isn't from arousal, but from apprehension. 

_He really doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to stand on servos and knees, being fucked like a little bitch in heat. The position is far too submissive for his liking._

_It's not like you _are_ anything but a submissive little bitch in this._

He obeys the request, because the sooner this is done, the quicker it is over. 

A big servo curls around his hip, and then something thick and blunt nudges his slick folds. It slips inside surprisingly easy, but then again, he is soaking wet after Hide's earlier ministrations. There's stretch, and it's a bit uncomfortable, but it doesn't really hurt, and it doesn't feel bad, like he expected. Ironhide's other servo grabs his shoulder-wing for leverage, thumb deftly teasing seams in his plating in a way that sets his sensor net alight, and then the Topkick starts thrusting. The slick slide of a spike over his inside nodes feels surprisingly good, and that realization has Barricade warring with himself, because he doesn't _want_ to enjoy this.

_What kind of a pleasurebot is he, if he enjoys what is done to him while he's selling_ _ his frame_ _?_

When a servo comes around to slide between his legs, rubbing that exterior node again, he can't stop the little moans and gasps of pleasure that leave his vocalizer, even if he doesn't want Ironhide to know that it feels good.


	79. Chapter 79

Hide is recharging soundly, snoring away, but recharge eludes the Interceptor. A heavy arm is slung across his waist, pinning him in place, Hide's front pressed against his back, and Barricade stares at the wall, trying to hold off the pathetic little sobs that are threatening to break free from his vocalizer.

_He sold his frame for fuel and a roof over his helm, his frame has been altered to suit his new station in his functioning. And he overloaded for the mech who's paying for his frame. Came for his customer. Just like any other pleasurebot._

Ironhide's first words to him echoes in his processor. _Ass is a currency, and the only thing he has to pay with._

_You're a whore now._

The Saleen feels another glob of transfluid dribble out from his valve, trickling down his thigh to soak the bedding underneath him, and this time he does sob quietly, feeling cheap and used.

_Three times, the Topkick had him. And he overloaded every single time. He was an Enforcer, had his own apartment, and a good life. Good friends. And now he's the berthwarmer of a whore mongering gang boss._

He wriggles forward, tries to get out of Hide's grasp, reaching for the astro-weed cygar on the night stand. 

_It's doubtful if it would be worse to be tested positive for drugs and sent back to prison, he might as well numb himself with what he can. If he's nothing but a fuck toy here or in prison hardly matters. And he isn't an ex-Enforcer this time if he goes back, he's a pleasurebot._

His wriggling rubs his aft against the Topkick's groin, and behind him Ironhide stirs when he lights up the cyg.

"Horny again, little mech?" He rumbles, voice rough with recharge, but there's definitely a smirk there. "Good thing I'm a fit mech."

Digits slide through his folds, already slick with transfluid and lubricant, and with practiced ease, Ironhide finds the spots that make a low moan leave Barricade's vocalizer, while his hips buck against that servo of their own accord.


	80. Chapter 80

Barricade wakes up abruptly, sitting up quickly and it takes him a second to remember where he is. 

_In Ironhide's berth. You were fucked into it four times last night, remember? Wailed into these expensive sheets when you came._

_Shut up._

The room is dark, thick curtains blocking out the daylight, but when he checks his chronometer, it's almost noon. He's alone in Ironhide's berth, and there's no signs of the gang leader, so Barricade falls back, slowly stretching his frame, giving himself some time to fully reboot. 

_And the berth really is comfortable._

With all his systems up and running, he can't push away the thoughts of why he's in this comfortable berth in the first place anymore, though, so he gets up and indulges in a long, hot shower wondering what he's going to do now. He needs to occupy his mind to keep himself from thinking about last night. _And the evening that's closing in with the looming inevitability of more interfacing._

Barricade decides on trying to find some fuel, and with his spark fluttering nervously, he descends the stairs, uncertain what he is supposed to do when he's not spreading his legs for the Topkick with an admittedly impressive libido.

The top floor is full of closed doors, and whatever they lead to; berthrooms, offices, or something else, he isn't going to explore it on his own. The rec room downstairs is probably safe, and he guesses that the wing where Jazz's room is might be the quarters of the other... 

_The other whores. Get used to it, Barricade._

Drift is sprawled on his front on a couch in the rec room, still in recharge. His leg is hanging over the edge of the seat, making it clear that the panels covering his array and his port are still open. _Maybe he doesn't even have them?_

Barricade shudders. He thinks about seeing if Jazz is in his room, but he wants energon first. _Or is he just stalling? He hasn't told his... whatever they are, that he took Hide up on his offer, and it's not something he's proud to tell. It's a good thing his former co-workers can't see him now._

He goes to find an energon dispenser, and walks as quietly as he can through a hallway, not keen on attracting attention. _Maybe he should ask for a tour, and introductions?_

Through an open door further down the hallway, he hears voices, and Barricade follows them. He slowly pushes the door open, intending to just peek inside, but it suddenly swings open with a loud creak from the ancient door opening mechanism.

Everything goes quiet, and they all stare at him.

"Uhm... Hi?"


	81. Chapter 81

"Well 'ello, _gorgeous! _Welcome te the 'umble abode of the Autobots." The black and green mech he saw yesterday — sprawled on the couch, playing with himself — says, looking him up and down. 

He grabs Barricade's wrist-strut where the Saleen's servo still hangs awkwardly in the air from where the Mustang froze up when the door decided to fly open, and yanks the smaller Interceptor into the room that turns out to be a refuelling room.

"Hi?" He repeats, keenly aware of all the optics glued to him.

"I bet ye need some fuel, considerin' _Hide_ 'ad ye all night. We 'ave all sorts of energon. 'elp yerself." The mech establishes in an accent the Saleen is not familiar with. 

Barricade flushes when it sinks in that what he did all night is apparently common knowledge, but he allows himself tugged along to an energon dispenser. An empty cube is shoved into his servo, and no matter how awkward it all feels, it is kind of nice that this mech — who he has seen being finger fucked on two occasions, but still doesn't know the designation of — is helpful and at least he seems welcoming.

"Thank you...?" He says while looking through the options in the dispenser. 

_They really do have everything, both varieties of fuel, and more additives than he cares to look through._ Barricade doesn't have a hard time choosing, because his favorite energon is there too. _He hasn't had it since before he went to jail._ The Saleen fills his cube before he turns back to the mech.

"The designation is Crosshairs. In-'ouse entertainment division." The mech says with a saucy smirk.

"Nice to meet you, Crosshairs. I'm Barricade." 

_Maybe he has found someone he can be on friendly terms with? Even if Crosshairs is one of the hookers._

That's the moment when he notices something else about Crosshairs, something he has been to busy to see until now.

"Uhm... Your panel is open." He whispers to the Racer, glancing at the other mechs gathered around the island in the prep area of the refuelling room. 

Crosshairs actually laughs at that. "It's in my room. I've removed it. It's no' like any of 'em 'aven't seen, an' fucked it anyway, so why bother coverin' it?"

Barricade feels his intake move, though no sound is spilling over his lip-plates. _It's going to take a while to get used to this._


	82. Chapter 82

"So what's your deal here?" A big Flight frame asks, a digit sliding along Barricade's shoulder-wing, making the Interceptor twitch nervously. "You sure are a pretty mech..." 

Barricade looks up at the mech over his shoulder, the Flier much too close for comfort. _There's something familiar about the mech._

"I-I think I'm supposed to pay _Hide_ in kind for fuel and a place to recharge safely?" He stammers uncertainly, because Barricade never considered any other options. _The Topkick said that he should stay in his berth, right? Or was that a misunderstanding?_

"Just Hide?" That servo grabs his shoulder-wing more firmly, a strong thumb rubbing circles into the plating, and it would probably feel nice if it wasn't so unwanted.

"Quit 'asslin' 'im, Nitro, an' call Hide an' ask instead." Crosshairs says, putting his servos on his hips, glaring at the taller mech.

Barricade chances a glance up at the mech called Nitro again, currently still toying with the Interceptor's shoulder-wing. 

_One red optic, unusually broad frame for a flier. It's the gross bastard who made a disgusting offer when he was still inside. But of course. If not sooner, then later, or what? Primus must really hate him._

He lets out an exvent he didn't know he was holding when the mech lets go of his wing, stepping back.

"Boss says you still belong to him." Nitro sounds disappointed.

Barricade bristles, because while he has made a deal, he does not _belong _to anyone, nor is he something that can be passed around between them. He bites his glossa though, because until he is certain of all the details of the deal, he isn't going to risk pissing someone off unnecessarily, and get himself kicked out.

"Do you know if Jazz is in?" He asks Crosshairs instead, to divert everyone's attention, as well as give himself a way out before the conversation takes an even more uncomfortable turn.

"Think so. 'e usually sleeps in, and 'e likes te stay in berth for a while after 'e wakes up." Crosshairs tells him, smirking. "He wants sweet energon in the mornin', if ye want te bring 'im somethin'."

Barricade nods gratefully, and fills a cube to bring to Jazz, then he hurries out into the hallway, not paying much attention to the conversations that start up again when he leaves.

"'ave fun..." He hears Crosshairs' parting shot, though, and in spite of everything, he flushes.


	83. Chapter 83

"Come in." Jazz's voice reaches him through the door.

Barricade steps inside, balancing both the cubes, and then he stops just inside as it slides shut behind him and hovers uncertainly, because he doesn't know what to say. _If Jazz knows what kind of deal he has made with Ironhide._

"I brought some energon."

"That's so sweet, babe!" Jazz coos happily. 

The Solstice is stretched out on his front on the berth in the middle of a heap of his bedding, propped up on his elbows, and it looks very comfortable. He stretches his servo out for the cube, and Barricade walks over to the berth, handing him the cube, then he stands there awkwardly.

"Ya not gonna join me?" Jazz pats the empty space beside him, before taking a sip of the energon.

Barricade sinks down to perch on the edge of the berth, feeling incredibly awkward. 

"I was worried when ya disappeared."

"I've made a deal with Hide." Barricade admits quietly, looking down into his lap.

"I heard tha rumours. I'm glad. It's much safer than beein' on tha streets."

"You're _glad_ that I'm sleeping with someone else?!" He stares incredulously at Jazz.

Jazz chuckles. "It's not like I don' do it myself, n' I really don' wantcha ta get into trouble. This is tha safest ya can be, an I really like ta know that ya're safe." Jazz downs the rest of the energon, placing the cube on the floor, before he rolls over on his back, looking up at Barricade. "I don' like ya less for what ya do ta keep yourself clean, fueled, n' safe, how could I? Most of my friends do it too, n' ya're _here_, with me. I'll rather share ya, than don't have ya at all, or even worse, somethin' bad ta happen to ya."

There's some twisted logic in that reasoning, but it's still hard to reconcile with it all. Fortunately for Barricade, Jazz has other plans than letting him wallow in the cluster fuck his functioning has turned into.

"Are ya gonna sit there all day, or are ya gonna kiss me?"

It's not one of the hard choices he's been forced to make lately. 


	84. Chapter 84

They lay on Jazz's berth for hours, tangled comfortably, and Barricade is so content with cuddling, some of the bad feelings from the night before dissipates. 

"Not that I _want_ ta leave, but I hafta get ready for work." Jazz finally says, untangling himself and getting up.

_Work._ It's like a bucket of freezing cold solvent tipped over him, because it reminds him of what his own job is these days, and it's a sour tasting reminder of what kind of mech is fragging Barricade. _A mech who sells other mechs. A gang boss who exploits vulnerable mechs and keeps them around for interfacing._

"How can you stand to put yourself on the streets for _him, _for_ them?"_

Jazz turns to give him a flat stare. "It's tha same thing I did before, ya know."

"Yes, but then you did it for yourself. You still fuck whomever is willing to pay you, but most of the money goes to someone else. They're taking advantage of you."

"Like ya didn' take advantage of me back when we met? Or all those other hookers ya extorted for a fuck."

"That's _different!_ And I did _not_ extort anyone! I did you a _favor_ — did you all a favor — kept you from going to _jail!_ I think it was only fair that I got something in return for that." _Look where it landed him after all: in prison for years, stripped of his rank, and all his worldly possessions._

"Consider this, then: Hide's doin' ya a _favor._ He keeps ya from starvin', or bein' kidnapped, robbed, or raped out there. N' he doesn't _threaten_ ya into it, ya're free ta leave whenever ya want. Don'cha think it's fair that he gets something in return for that?" Jazz bitingly turns his own fucking words against him.

_It's not the same fucking thing! He doesn't even enjoy using his valve_ _ and he certainly isn't the type who sells his frame!_

_Liar! You overload good__ enough for Hide, you _like _it, you little slut!_ _And it does seem like you do sell your frame when it's convenient._

_Shut up!_

"You were already a _whore!_ What was another frag or two to keep you from going to jail?"


	85. Chapter 85

Jazz looks taken aback, jaw hanging open in shock. 

"So jus' 'cause I was already sellin' my frame ta _survive,_ ya think what ya did was less abusive? Fuck, ya can be such an ignorant asshole sometimes! Ya never considered that I did it with ya outta fear for what ya could do ta me? And ya kept showin' up, wantin' more, n' I was _terrified,_ because at any moment, ya could demand something I normally wouldn't sell, and I'd have no choice but ta do it, or I'd go ta prison. Jus' tha thought that ya could hog my time for free, n' I wouldn't have time ta get enough payin' customers to actually afford some fuel n' a place ta stay..."

_He never thought about that. Was it like that for all the pleasurebots he had done deals with? They had always seemed so happy to do it, had been so thankful for the deals they made. Had it been an act? He had never considered that._

"It really took me quite some time ta figure out that ya really _like_ me, that ya kept showing up for _me_, not just ta get your cock wet, n' your power-kink satisfied."

_Fucking hell. The one mech he had ever felt something for, and he had literally assaulted him several times, and not even realized what he was doing._

Barricade's insides feel cold in a strange way when he thinks about it.

"I'm so sorry, Jazz. So very _sorry._ I never even thought about that. I thought you knew I liked you."

Jazz laughs without humor. "Yeah. But don'cha _dare_ come questioning me 'bout _my_ arrangement here. My contract is none of your business. I have everythin' I need. I don' need ta find a motel I can afford ta recharge comfortably, I don' hafta choose between a safe place ta stay _or_ fuel when I have had a bad week. They keep me safe on tha streets, n' there's always someone just a comm away if a customer gets nasty. It could be _so_ much worse, ya know. There's some really bad pimps out there, slavers, really. Hide is a _good_ guy, he really cares for us. N' he's good in tha sack, so just count yourself lucky ya caught his attention. A lotta mechs would wanna trade places with ya." There's a slight hitch in Jazz's voice, hardly noticeable, but clearly there.

Field still simmering with indignant anger, Jazz turns to his storage unit, and pulls out a pair of his fabric working pants. He grabs the new bottle of solvent from on top of it, and a cloth hanging over a chair next to it. 

"I'm gonna shower. Stay as long as ya like, but Hide will want ya back in his quarters tonight, n' ya better be there." And with that, Jazz heads for the washracks, leaving Barricade to mull over this new functioning of his.

_He's still a berthwarmer for a pimp, and now Jazz is rightfully angry with him. Lovely._


	86. Chapter 86

"I need a clarification about the rules here, and what's expected of me." Barricade says, standing awkwardly inside the door to Hide's quarters. "And I think maybe I should have your comm connection?"

"Of course. My bad. You're just so very distracting, I failed to remember all of that yesterday." Ironhide beckons him with crooking a digit in a come hither motion. 

His optics roam Barricade's frame, and it's still so very uncomfortable with that kind of attention. The Interceptor still obeys, coming to stand in front of the mech. Big servos encircle his waist, and he's pulled into Ironhide's lap, straddling sturdy thighs. A request for a comm connection pings, and he accepts it, then a data file is sent to him.

"There, that's the connections to everyone who lives in this house. The rules are like this: refuel as much as you like, you're free to move around the house, and get what you want from the energon dispensers, but the rooms on this floor are off limits unless invited. The living quarters downstairs are the same, of course, everyone deserves their privacy. You can leave the premises whenever you want, but you need to inform a brother of where you're going, and when we can expect you back. It's for your own safety. You _can_ frag anyone you want, but for now, your only obligation is to me."

_For now._

"Our deal said nothing about others. You said I'd stay in _your_ berth."

A servo slides between his legs, rubbing his interface plate, and Barricade opens it. _If he doesn't, Hide will just ask, and he'll have to do it anyway._

"Contracts are always renegotiated at some point. I'm not much for exclusiveness, or for hogging the goodies for myself. You stay with me during your introduction, if you accept the conditions when the trial period is over, you get your own room. You're always free to turn a deal down and leave, you're not a prisoner here."

_As if he has much of a choice._

"I-I'm on parole." Barricade confesses.

"Isn't everyone? I'll make a few calls tomorrow and we'll get back to that later. Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of right now."

Digits slip through his dry folds, teasing his anterior node, and his valve twitches with interest at the contact.

_At least Hide knows how to make it feel good physically._


	87. Chapter 87

A few nights later, Barricade is stretched out on his front on Ironhide's berth, nursing a cube of high grade he has dared to get himself from the bar in the rec room, when the Topkick walks in. Barricade glances over his shoulder and catches how Ironhide smirks appreciatively as his optics trails Barricade's frame, and he quickly looks away again, still uncomfortable with the blatant ogling. Barricade motions to the cube he has left on the bedside table. He still doesn't dare to believe that he really can just grab what he wants, so he brought Ironhide one too, because it looks better.

"This is a sight I approve of coming home to: a hot mech, and a cube of high grade waiting for me. Damn, you look fine on my berth." Ironhide rumbles.

Barricade doesn't know how to respond. Hide is always saying these nice things, complimenting him, and it's just not something he's used to. It's flattering to a point of making him flush, but how is he supposed to answer it? _And is it even sincere? _He squirms in embarrssment. _Surely, it's just Hide being slick to cream him up for the night's fucking._

"I made a few calls." Ironhide says when Barricade doesn't answer, throwing a data pad on the berth next to Barricade. "Set a few things up to make things easier for you. As long as you're one of my mechs, these deals are in play."

Barricade plucks the data pad off the berth carefully, as if it might bite him.

"From now on, you can do astro-weed without being nervous, but if I catch you bringing a single router chip, or anything else heavy in here, I'll punt you over the wall myself. If you need help to stay clean from that crap, tell me, and we'll fix that. Now I'm going to shower, because I'm not getting into berth like this."

Barricade's jaw is hanging open as he scrolls through the pad, but he glances up at Ironhide again, and this time he does a double take, because now he notices the mess on the mech's plating.

_Is all that processed energon? Holy fucking Primus. _

_The spatter on his leg looks like coolant, though. _

_As if it matters what frame fluid it is._

He decides to not think about that right now as Ironhide hits the washracks, and he refocuses on the data pad.

_He has gotten a new parole officer assigned to his case, there's a prescription for medical astro-weed for his anxiety, he has an official living adress, with a rent contract that looks legit. On top of it, he has employment with Autobot Inc. as an entertainer. He's a stand up citizen, squeaky clean. There's no reason for the parole board to send him back to jail._

"Hey, Barricade?! I need help scrubbing my back. And other parts of me." Ironhide leers from the washracks.

_No reason at all as long as he keeps giving up his frame for entertainment to a mech who comes home dripping of someone's energon, and sells other mechs to buy luxury bedding._

_The washracks are nice though, you really like that. Maybe he'll let you use the oil jacuzzi if you bend over for him?_

_Shut up._

"I'll be right there!"

_So eager!_

_Shut up!_


	88. Chapter 88

_There's something arousing about running his servos down that broad back. Something about all the power in the bunched cables that ripple under his questing digits as they slip though the seams of dark plating._

Barricade really doesn't like that. Still, he keeps cleaning Ironhide, the big mech leaning his forearms against the wall, forehelm against his servos as he slowly relaxes under Barricade's ministrations. The water pours down over them from the overhead shower head, sluicing down the drain, tainted with the fluids coming off of Ironhide's frame as Barricade cleans him.

_He's a spike mech._

_A liter of lubricant says you're not exclusively a spike mech._

_Shut up. What the fuck is a liter anyway?_

_Distracting yourself much?_

"Bloody Pit, you're so good with your servos." Ironhide groans approvingly.

"I... I try my best?"

"Mhm. How about you work that magic on my spike too?" Ironhide murmurs suggestively.

Barricade doesn't even have time to get grossed out before Ironhide turns around, pressurized spike bobbing between them, and the Saleen can't help but stare at the component.

_It's massive!_

_Well, you didn't complain when it was in your pussy..._

He can't even come up with a retort to his aggravating thoughts, beacuse Barricade is too stunned about it. 

_He has had that fragging pole inside his valve!_

Ironhide chuckles. "It won't bite you..."

"I know that!"

It comes out way too sharp and shrill because of his mortified apprehension and indignance, but Ironhide just grins wider when Barricade reaches out to wrap his servo around the component. The big mech leans his back against the wall, allowing Barricade to stroke his spike, looking the Interceptor right in the optics as Barricade tries all the moves he knows that he enjoys himself.

_It's too intimate._

No matter how badly Barricade doesn't want to yield, he can't make himself keep optic contact while stroking the pimp's thick cock. 

To not just stand there, jerking Ironhide off while staring stupidly at anything but what he's doing, Barricade leans forward, hesitantly licking at Ironhide's grill. It's not like he knows if it's even pleasurable, but at least he gets something to focus on.


	89. Chapter 89

"I think I'm good to go. You slick?" Ironhide says, servo reaching out to cup Barricade's array.

His panel is already open, because he figured he might as well do that when he entered the washracks, and while it was kind of arousing to wash Ironhide, it isn't like he's close to overloading. Moist may be a good description. Digits are pushed inside, and it's not an uncomfortable friction, but it isn't exactly a slick slide either, and he curls his lip-plates in semi-discomfort.

Ironhide bites his audial fin, and Barricade sqeaks at the unexpected pain, but it does send an unexpected jolt of pleasure straight to his array. Ironhide licks the fin to soothe the bite, and it's even better, making his valve clench around the intruding digits. Barricade grinds down on the servo, frame moving without his permission.

"That's it, little mech. Fucking hell, I get so revved up by taking care of business, I've been half pressurized since before I got home..." Ironhide growls, digits slipping out of Barricade's valve.

Suddenly Ironhide swivels around, grabbing Barricade's arms to spin him too, and the Mustang barely has time to register the movement before his back is smashed against the wall and Ironhide is crowding him. Barricade's spark flips over with sudden fear, and then Ironhide's arms nudge his legs apart, servos splaying on his aft to easily lift him. Barricade clings to his neck for stability, and The Topkick lines Barricade's valve up with his spike effortlessly, even supporting Barricade's weight, and then he slams inside.

Barricade mewls, because that spike is still thick and long, and the angle makes the head mash his ceiling node in a way he has never experienced before, and he can't quite tell if it feels good or uncomfortable.

"Yeah, take it just like that. Primus, you're still pretty fucking tight." Ironhide grunts as he starts thrusting, pelvic plating pressing against Barricade's anterior node with every harsh thrust.

Barricade is feeling small and helpless where he's held up with his back against the wall, but at the same time, the way Ironhide is pounding into him, the way he's filled up, the way the ridges on that massive spike is sliding over the nodes inside his valve...

He suddenly overloads with a surprised wail, arching his back as much as he can where he's pinned between the wall and the massive Topkick. It brings Ironhide over too. With a deep growl, the mech slams in deep, hot spurts of transfluid painting the insides of Barricade's valve.

Barricade feels spent and strutless when Ironhide lets him slide to the floor, the water still pelting down on them.

"Dry up and get on the berth. I've got a few more loads in me." Ironhide rumbles.


	90. Chapter 90

There's a lot of things he doesn't like with his new life, but the mornings? The mornings are nice. 

For being so fond of high grade, and astro-weed, _and fucking all night long_, Hide isn't lazy about getting up in the morning. The Topkick usually gets up well before noon, leaving the fucked out Interceptor alone in the large bed to recharge for a few more hours.

The Saleen comes out of recharge slowly, lazily stretching his frame. The soft, imported, organic sheets slide luxuriously against his plating, and even if it's past noon, he indulges in the comfort of the soft berth, pushing his face into the fluffy pillow instead of getting up, the sybaritic self-gratification making his intake pull into a rare smile. _It's not like he has anywhere he needs to be anyway, nothing he has to do, except for taking a long, hot shower, and getting some energon, then he'll go back to berth and smoke weed, and watch movies all day._

_So you're not going to talk to Jazz today either?_

_Jazz probably hasn't come out of recharge yet._

_Excuses, excuses. Coward._

Barricade pushes that thought away — he has been avoiding the Solstice, procrastinating the conversation they need to have to clear the air — in favor of thinking about more pleasant things. 

If he'd still been a cop, he probably would've been working by now; chased out of the warmth of his berth several hours ago, roused by the hostile blaring of the alarm clock, needing the kick of heated energon to get his processor going, and force himself to head out into the cold dampness of pre-dawn. Not carelessly lounging in the most luxurious berth he has ever planted his aft in, without any obligations what so ever. 

_Except at night, when he's expected to pay for his newly acquired rock and roll lifestyle. With his valve._

_Whore._


	91. Chapter 91

"There are some things you need to adjust with your attitude, Barricade."

The Saleen is sitting on Ironhide's berth, waiting for the mech to finish whatever he's doing on his data pad and get on with the night's fucking. He looks questioningly at the big mech, waiting for him to elaborate.

"While your reactions when finally in the sack are nothing short of delightful, you don't really invite to fragging. You don't exactly make me feel welcome and wanted."

_Isn't it enough that he spreads his legs whenever Hide wants him to, that he goes along with whatever the thug asks for? That he doesn't try to hide when things do feel good? Does he really need to pretend to _want_ it, just to stroke the mech's ego? He's doing well enough, and the Topkick knows it, he's just being an aft._

"Because you're not."

The Topkick heaves a sighing vent. "I'm not forcing you to be here. You can leave whenever you want, you know."

_Like he truly has an option._

"You have everything you need here, and the only thing I ask for in return — what any of us ask for when we pick someone to share our berth — is to feel appreciated and wanted for providing that. To feel like at least some of the care I invest in my mechs is returned, and that you are happy to have me."

"_Providing?!_ You do realize that it's your _whores_ who pay for this, don't you?! Why should I appreciate _you_ for that?!" Barricade scoffs. _Care? Like the brute cares about anything other than sticking his cock in a wet valve every night._

Ironhide's face-plates harden.

"Trust me, I do have many other sources of income that is far more profitable than the streetwalker business. And _you_ are not really making any money at all right now, so acting like you want me is a fairly small price to pay for sleeping in a comfortable berth, drinking _my_ energon, washing up in _my _washracks, smoking_ my _pot, and being kept out of jail, now isn't it? Consider it a bit of _customer service_, if you absolutely have to think about this as nothing but a business transaction. You really want me to find you interesting enough to come back for seconds..."

Barricade doesn't answer but he can't stop himself from making a grimace.

"You have no fucking idea how lucky you are to be here, do you?"


	92. Chapter 92

_Lucky indeed, spreading his legs for the neighborhood pimp. _He crosses his arms and stares stubbornly at the wall, unable to force himself to even look at the Topkick_._

"There's plenty of others doing the same thing as I do, but with far less palatable methods. Or how about being homeless, and starving, and that parole board just waiting for an opportunity to throw you back behind bars for a long time? But you're free to try your luck elsewhere if you'd rather want that. I'm not forcing you to stay."

_He just want a real job, and some of his dignity back, he just wants to wake up from this fucking nightmare, back in his own apartment, and he'll flush his stash of drugs, and he's never going to even look at a pleasurebot again — except for bringing them in and putting them away. He'll rescue a cyberhound and start to collect crystals to keep occupied._ He pinches a sensory relay in his arm to wake up. _But alas, he's already awake, and this conversation is really happening._

Ironhide takes his silence as a capitulation. He throws something that lands on the berth next to the Interceptor. 

"Use that if you can't get wet by yourself. Go get ready in the washracks, and come back when you're ready to convinceme that you _want_ me to frag you." His tone is harsh and demanding, as if he's tired of the Saleen acting like a spoiled brat, and Barricade's spark speeds up with an apprehension he hasn't really felt around the mech before. 

_There' an uglier side to Ironhide that he hasn't really thought much about, because he hasn't seen it himself. Hide didn't get to be the leader of an organization like this by being nice through and through, and he did come home smeared with energon. He knows this, he just prefers to not think about it too closely._

Numbly, he grabs the bottle Ironhide threw to him, looking at it as he slowly crawls off the berth. The humiliation burns his faceplates when he turns it over to read the label.

_Synthetic lubricant_


	93. Chapter 93

As soon as the door to the washracks close behind him, Barricade sinks to the floor, curling into a ball, and starts to sob hysterically. His vents hitch and rattle with distress, and he swallows repeatedly to stifle the need to purge.

_He can't do this. It's one thing to give up his frame — even to show his honest reactions to what Ironhide does with him — but it's a whole different thing to act like he wants it to happen before the fact._

But his options are very limited, and he's not keen on spending another night in an alley somewhere, and risk being mugged, or so much worse. He wraps his arms around himself in a futile attempt to find some comfort.

The worst part is that Ironhide is _right._ Barricade knows very well from his line of work about the mech smugglers, and the traffickers, and the pimps who really are nothing but slavers, he _knows_ that many pleasurebots are kept in line with brute force or forced drug addiction. But logically knowing that is just cold comfort, because it's still something elusive he hasn't really seen up close in real life — as a regular patrol officer, he never worked with the task forces against organized crime — while the bottle of lubricant, and the demand for customer service is all too real.

_He had everything he needed, had a real job, and was respected, and now he's nothing, he has nothing, and the only thing keeping him from being a guttermech, starving in a dirty, cold alley, is if he manages to convince a pimp that he really wants to be fucked by him._

Barricade stays there — curled up on the plush rug that makes the heated floor even more comfortable, another mocking reminder of how he has nothing, and yet he has access to so much more luxuries than when he had a good job — for half an hour, wallowing in his self pity. Eventually, he can't justify staying any longer though, and he forces himself to get up, grabbing the hated bottle that he dropped like it was on fire as soon as he was out of sight of Ironhide.

Mechanically, he opens his panel, pouring a hefty amount of the slick substance on his servo, and then he dips his digits inside to slick his unaroused valve. Pulling out again, he slips his digits through his folds, and he twitches when he passes over his anterior node, the slick making it feel good. Barricade flicks it a couple of times, and he feels his array heating up, his valve-lips getting puffier.

_That has to do._

With a deep vent to steel himself, he swallows his pride, and steps back into the berthroom.


	94. Chapter 94

The Topkick looks up from his data pad when Barricade enters, appraising his frame. Barricade plasters on what he hopes is a sultry smirk, even though it feels more like a stiff grimace, and then he walks over to stand in front of Ironhide. The Saleen looks the mech up and down, and he leans in to drag his digits along Ironhide's cannon. Hide's engine revs. _It's clearly a sensitive spot on the mech's frame. _Barricade makes a note of that.

"It's so big." He purrs, flicking his optics up to meet Ironhide's gaze. "Got some other big components that I can play with?"

Ironhide grins up at him, clearly approving of Barricade's adjustment of attitude. The Topkick pops his panel and pressurizes his spike. "Good enough for you? Maybe you should have a taste? You havent done that yet."

_A taste?! Ugh_.

With an even more strained smile, Barricade sinks down to kneel between Ironhide's pedes. He leans forward, grabbing the spike that bobs proudly in front of him, and hesitantly licks the tip of it. Ironhide groans, and Barricade is thankful for the position where the Topkick can't se the face he makes when he tastes the pre-transfluid. He sucks the head of the spike into his intake, working his glossa around it, trying to guess what to do.

_Is this what the pleasurebots felt like when he demanded a blowjob for not taking them in? Degraded, dirty, and used..._

"Ah, yes, like that." Ironhide hisses when he licks one of the ridges. "I don't mind if you play with yourself while you do this."

It's not really a request or a demand, but it can't hurt to do it anyway, even if Barricade is disgusted, and not aroused. He slips one servo between his thighs and starts to toy with himself. It's not something he really has done before either, but from the nights he has spent with Ironhide, he has learned that he enjoys to have his node stimulated, and that there's a spot inside him, so he flicks his node, because it's the easiest thing to reach.

A big servo lands on the back of his helm, not pushing, just resting there, but it really feels like a dominant gesture he can't say he likes. Barricade tries to ignore it, focusing on getting the Topkick off as quickly as possible, taking note of what the big mech seems to like for future reference.

_It's disgusting that his functioning has come to circle around knowing how to get a mech off._


	95. Chapter 95

"That's enough of that. I want you to ride me."

Barricade's spark sinks, because for as disgusting the prospect of swallowing a load of transfluid is, it'll be much harder to pretend to like this when he's facing Ironhide. He still gets up from the floor and straddles the big mech's legs. The Topkick's servos come up to rest on his hips, but he doesn't do more than that, and at first, Barricade is bewildered by it.

"Go ahead, it's all yours." 

_Ironhide wants him to take it of his own accord._

Barricade reaches between them and grabs the thick spike, lifting off to give himself room to line it up, and then he sinks down on Ironhide's cock. A gasp leaves his vocalizer, because his earlier toying with his node did make him charged, and the ridged thing does stimulate sensitive nodes inside him in a very pleasant way.

"Good little mech. You're so pretty when you allow yourself to enjoy the things we do." Ironhide murmurs.

_Enjoys it, like a little slut. It does feel good physically, but he still doesn't want this._

The Mustang leans forward, pressing his face against Ironhide's shoulder, nipping and licking at cables and wires to hide the derisive face he isn't able to keep himself from making, and then he starts to bounce on the Topkick's lap. Ironhide bucks up to meet him, pushing in deep, and Barricade groans, because it does feel so very good in that way he hates. The servos on his hips tighten, and the big mech starts to lift and drop him, helping him to keep the rhythm, grunting as his overload is nearing.

_He won't overload from just this._

Barricade hesitates, because on one servo, he doesn't _want_ to get off on fucking the pimp, but on the other, the only one losing if he is left high and dry when Ironhide finishes is himself. He reaches between his legs and starts to circle his node with one digit, the slickness making it feel so good.

"That's right, take your pleasure." Ironhide groans, bright optics locked on where Barricade is working himself.

_He overloads._

With a quiet mewl, frame stiffening, his hips jerk uncontrollably, and Barricade comes while Ironhide takes full control of pacing the thrusts into his soaked valve. The Topkick bucks up to slide into him to the hilt through his overload, and then he overloads too, pressing Barricade down on his length. The Interceptor tilts forward, resting his helm on Ironhide's shoulder, fans spinning rapidly to cool his frame, and for a few moments — when he's satisfied, and spent, and his processor is muzzy with post-facing bliss — he feels comfortably relaxed in Hide's lap. He breathes in the familiar scent of heated plating and expensive polish that is distinctly Ironhide. The mech smells so good, smells like home, because this is what the berth smells like when he wakes up every morning, warm, safe, and comfortable.

Then he realizes what he's doing, and the self derision sets in.


	96. Chapter 96

"I'm sorry for being a slaghelm. It's just... I'm still struggling with dealing with this, and you confronted me with truths — some of them very ugly to realize about myself — and I handled it badly."

"Mhm."

"That you already were a pleasurebot was an incredibly bad excuse. But I had never thought about what I did as a form of assault, and I got defensive, because I really don't want to be a... I don't want to be a _rapist_, and relizing that that's what I did was..._. ugh. _And that I did it to you without even realizing? The mech I like? I'm so fucking _sorry_, Jazz."

_Not that he wants to be convicted for more crimes than he already has on his rap sheet, but it's kind of unsettling that for all the footage they had gathered as evidence, not a single point about the assaults he committed was even discussed as a charge. And they were right there, on high resolution video! And now he's the one in a position where things could go much further than he can agree with, and there's definitely no laws protecting him. Or at least, the laws won't make any difference at all._

"Well, I already forgave ya for tha coercion. I know ya ain't a bad mech, not in your spark. What pissed me off was tha way ya just dismissed me, how obvious it was that ya saw me as somethin' less worthy than you. I'm a whore, n' that's that, but ya think ya're too good ta do it? Like I'm lower than you." Jazz's voice hitches at the end, as if the most painful part of it really was finding out that Barricade thought that whoring was good enough for Jazz but not good enough for him.

_It probably was._

"I can't say that I have come to terms with this, with my new role, I'm not going to lie to you about that. But I don't consider you less of a person than me. Before I was arrested, I was hoping that I could provide for you, that I could take you out of there. But here we are now..."

"Here we are."

"You still mean a lot to me, Jazz, I really like you."

"I do like ya too, Barricade. We can't be exclusive for obvious reasons, but I don' think it'll be a problem. What we can have is deeper than just exclusive facin'."

"Yeah. So... you want to 'face now? I... uhm, I missed being with you." Barricade says sheepishly, because it sounds bad, even if what he's really after is the intimacy of interfacing with someone out of his own free will.

"Thought ya'd never ask!" Jazz snorts, both amused and annoyed.

"Do you," the Saleen breaks of, gathering his courage, "ah, do you want to spike me? I never even thought about that, I just took for granted that you were a valve mech, since you always offered your valve. And I really want you to spike me."

Jazz tackles the Interceptor, smirking wickedly when he pins him to the mattress. "I'd love ta spike ya."


	97. Chapter 97

He isn't unfamiliar with how it can feel to use his valve. Barricade has learned that he can derive a lot of pleasure form having it skillfully stimulated. It's still different when Jazz does it, because there's no warring emotions about this, he really wants to do it.

Jazz slips his digits through Barricade's folds, and he's going slicker by the second, heat pooling in his array quicker than he ever has experienced before. One of his servos is still pinned to the mattress, but Barricade's attention is on the way Jazz toys with his anterior node; slow, teasing touches that is light enugh to make him want to grind against that servo to get more friction. Jazz nips and licks at his chest-plates, lapping at his headlights and lightly biting his grill, and Barricade is embarrassed by how quickly he is getting revved up.

Jazz probably notices, because he starts to kiss his way up to Barricade's neck, nibbling at the cables and wires, and Barricade arches his back, pressing up against Jazz's frame.

"Oh, baby, ya're so needy." Jazz murmurs.

Barricade doesn't even have time to come up with an ineloquent answer, because Jazz leans in to capture his intake in a kiss, and Barricade eagerly responds.

_He missed Jazz so fucking much, more than he realized._

Digits slide into his soaked valve, and he moves against that servo, moaning into Jazz's mouth, because the Solstice expertly finds the spot inside him that makes his valve clench around those digits.

Barricade is already racing towards the edge when Jazz pulls his digits out, breaking the kiss to dip down to press his lip-plates against Barricade's neck.

"Please, Jazz, don't stop..." He whimpers.

"I ain't stoppin' darlin'. Jus' gonna give you somethin' even better..."


	98. Chapter 98

Jazz nudges Barricade's legs farther apart, and the Saleen looks down to see Jazz stroking his spike, and he's entranced by the component he has never seen before.

It's a pretty component; silver, with black and white highlighting the ridges, a few softly glowing blue LEDs accentuating the length. Jazz has clearly gone through the effort of having it modified, even if it probably sees far less use than his valve. Then the time for admiration is over, because Jazz lines it up and sinks into his valve instead, and a chill of pleasure travels up Barricade's back-struts.

Jazz's spike is smaller than Ironhide's, but Barricade doesn't find it lacking. On the contrary, it feels very good inside him, the ridges stimulating his inside nodes in a delicious way, and instinctively, he wraps his legs around Jazz's hips to urge him to go deeper, faster... _anything._

"Take it easy, babe, I gotcha!" Jazz purrs, voice sinful amusement.

"More, more, _please!_" Barricade mewls, because he's still pretty close, and still nowhere close enough, and he needs...

Jazz starts to thrust in an almost languorous pace, long, slow strokes, bottoming out with every thrust, and Barricade curls his back to meet him, to get him as deep as possible. Jazz's pelvic plating pushes against his node every time he surges forward, and it's building Barricade's charge.

"Ya know, I'd really like it if ya'd get on top. Would ya allow me ta show ya something?"

"Yes-yes-yes, just make me overload soon." Barricade says.

"Ya're so impatient!" Jazz snickers.

He grabs Barricade's hips and rolls them, spike still hilted in the Interceptor, and Barricade finds himself straddling the stretched out Jazz instead.

"There. Now, ya just rock back n' forth, rub yarself against me. That'll feel so good for us both." Jazz says, pushing and pulling on Barricade's hips to show him what he means and set a pace.

The movement is easy to get into and find a rhythm, and Barricade gasps as his node is rubbed against Jazz's plating. It doesn't take long to find the right amount of pressure, and the angle that really gets his node in the best way.

_It's so much better than bouncing up and down, stimulates him in all the right places, and spares the hydraulics in his legs. It's definitely his new favorite position._

Barricade grabs ahold of the plating on Jazz's chest, rubbing himself furiously against his lover, chasing his overload.

"I'm gonna cum soon if ya don' slow down." Jazz warns in a strained voice.

"I'm close too." 

Under him, Jazz tenses and bucks up when he overloads, and Barricade grinds down harder, rubbing himself against Jazz until he too tumbles over the edge. He tips forward, fans spinning furiously, and buries his face in Jazz's neck.

"Ya good, babe?"

"Perfect." He mumbles dopily against Jazz's neck-cables.


	99. Chapter 99

"So, how 'bout round two?"

Barricade onlines one optic to peer at Jazz, finding the Solstice grinning cheekily at him. He grinds against Barricade's thigh, and sure enough, his spike is hard again. They've been cuddling for a while, but it's still impressive that he's ready to go again already.

"Already?"

"What can I say, ya're just that hot. I'll do all tha work, n' ya can just enjoy yarself."

What they just did was very satisfying, but Barricade isn't opposed to another round. And Jazz's promise of doing all the work is tempting.

"Sounds good."

"Lay on your front."

Barricade stretches out, and Jazz nudges his legs apart, digits sliding into the Mustang's sloppy valve, still wet with lubricant and transfluid. Then he lines up and slides inside, bracing himself on his knees and one elbow, chest rubbing against Barricade's back when he starts thrusting. Barricade arches his back to give Jazz better access, enjoying the slick slide of a spike in his valve. Jazz's arm snakes between him and the mattress, and clever digits search out his anterior node. Barricade's hips jerk with approval of their own accord, and he grunts into the pillow.

"Feelin' good?" 

"Yeah. Really good."

Jazz nibbles Barricade's shoulder-wing, and the Interceptor hisses with surprised pleasure. He did not expect that, and the added stimulation, ramps his charge higher.

_So many things that feel good at once; inside him, against his node, his sensitive wing..._

Barricade doesn't even notice how he's starting to push back against Jazz, to meet every lazy thrust into him. All he knows is that he's getting closer to an overload, and that he really wants to tip over the edge again.

"Ya're so hot when ya're enjoyin' yarself. So fuckin' sexy when ya let go like this." Jazz murmurs in his audial.

The only answer Barricade gives is an incohereent mewl, because he's teetering on the edge of overload, entire frame going stiff as he waits for that last touch that'll release him.

Then finally his valve starts to pulse around Jazz's spike, and with a drawn out moan, hips pumping in the same rhythm as his valve contracts, Barricade finally overloads. He hears the grunt, and he feels when Jazz bites his shoulder-wing slightly too hard, but he just goes lax under his lover, allowing Jazz to collapse on top of him in post-coital bliss.


	100. Chapter 100

"I can't believe that for such a long time, I didn't manage to make it clear that I really want you. How could we fail so spectacularly at communicating?" Barricade muses out loud.

The Saleen is still stretched out on Jazz's berth, the Solstice draped halfway on top of him, and he toys with the silver mech's shoulder tire.

_Jazz has spiked him for the first time, and it felt surprisingly good. Barricade realizes that he still has some things to learn about how to please a partner when spiking them, because the stimulation Jazz was generous with, the things that actually were what made him overload, isn't something he would do. He'd always just fragged a mech and counted on that being enough._

"Not ta point digits, but ya never said anythin'. I mean, If ya'd said that ya wanted me for yourself, that ya liked me, I might've actually believed it. But ya just picked me up, n' paid for a room, n' fuel, n' for a long time, I jus' thought ya wanned ta control me. Ya gave me all those things, of course ya wanned sex in return. N' I was indebted to ya, so I didn' think I had a choice, or ya'd turn me in. N' if ya suddenly didn' set me up with a room n' fuel one day, would ya be mad that I screwed someone else ta get money enough? So many practicalities were goin' through my mind, I didn' even think about tha possibility that ya actually liked me."

"I should've invited you to my place. What the fuck was I thinking, always hanging out in motels? I wanted to get you off the streets, I wanted to be with you. I should've brought you home."

"Yeah, that would've gone a long way ta convince me. But ya know what? It doesn' matter anymore. That time is gone, those chances are in tha past. Let's jus' go forward. Let's make tha most of what we can have now."

_Yay. Make the most of both being whores, living in a brothel, allowed by their nice pimp to frag and cuddle during the day, just to spend the night's in someone else's berth, selling their frames._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 chapters! Where did all this time go? :o


	101. Chapter 101

He has mainly stayed in Ironhide's or Jazz's rooms — with Jazz during the days, spending the nights with Hide — avoiding to socialize with the other mechs much, but he should've known that he couldn't keep that up forever.

"Come on, let's go downstairs." Ironhide rumbles when Barricade steps out of the washracks, already standing by the door.

Barricade freezes like a turbo deer. "L-like this?" He stutters, because after he dried himself, he made sure that he is slick, and he left his panel open.

"Hm. I do like the view," Hide leers, and Barricade's tank drops, "but I'll leave that up to you tonight."

There's no hesitation; the Saleen slams his panel shut immediately. Hide looks slightly disappointed, but he just holds his arm out, and Barricade lets himself be tucked under it as they leave the room. His spark spins nervously, because while they have not renegotiated their deal, it's not like he has much leverage if Ironhide decides that now is the time to push the limits.

"We're having a party. My suggestion is that you try to relax and enjoy it. Have some fun, get to know the other mechanisms a little. You might find that you actually like it. There's a lot of good people here."

_He doubts that, but no matter how much he wants to sulk in the corner, Hide probably won't let him._

They descend the stairs to find the rec room buzzing with mechs, more than he has ever seen here before. He recognizes some of the pleasuremechs — all of them newly polished, and there's more of the brothers than usual gathered. The high grade seems to be flowing, there's bowls of cy-gars everywhere, and everyone seems relaxed and enjoying the party.

"So, what are we celebrating?"

"Sunny has finally been released. It has been a very long process, with numerous appeals, and he has been in AdSeg for the duration of the debacle, but now it's finally over, and he's a free mech." Hide explains, handing him a cube and a cyg without letting go of Barricade.

The Saleen nods, taking a deep swig of the high grade, not at all calmed by the explanation.


	102. Chapter 102

"Finally we get another look at your sweet aft." Nitro purrs in his audial, patting said aft.

Barricade swivels around, not prepared for suddenly having the big mech so close. Hide has just let go of him and turned the other way for a couple of seconds, speaking to someone. 

_They're like sharkticons, smelling a fresh prey, and he's the wounded cyberlamb that fell overboard, fresh plating for the picking._

"What do you say, little mech, want to have some fun?" Nitro rumbles and curls a servo around his hip.

_What the frag is he supposed to say? Hide said that he doesn't have to, but if he don't volunteer, then maybe there will be a renegotiation and he will be obligated anyway?_

"But I just came here?" He tries, sounding so weak and insecure, and small and ridiculous. "And I'm with Hide?"

"Aaw, but we could just go for a quickie." The big mech pouts. "You know, get back here as soon as we've scratched that itch."

_Not that he's is feeling particularly itchy right now, but when has that mattered lately?_

"I just want to mingle for a while. Get to know more people." _Get drunk as fuck before he's going to have to let someone have his frame._

_"You'd get to know me better..."_

"Cool your thrusters, Nitro. If he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to." Ironhide butts into the conversation, and Barricade has never been more grateful for the thug's presence.

"I know, I know. A mech can still try to suggest things, right? This one really has _such_ a sweet little aft. Can't wait for open season." Nitro rumbles, cocking his optic ridge at Barricade. "I'll show you what fun really means."

"Sure can suggest, but he's still mine." Hide says before turning back to Barricade. "Come on, lets take a seat." 

The arm is back across his shoulders, and it feels safer when he's tugged along to one of the couches. Ironhide lights Barricade's cygar, and hands him another cube of high grade. 

"Let's get some entertainment over here, shall we?" Without waiting for Barricade's answer, he lets out a sharp whistle, and waves a couple of mechs over.

Pressing into Ironhide's side without even realizing it, Barricade quickly downs half the cube before taking a deep drag on the cyg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone celebrate something today: happy holidays, and Merry Christmas!


	103. Chapter 103

"'ello, _Ironhide," _Crosshairspurrs, leaning a servo against the Topkick's thigh, the tips of his digits teasing Ironhide's interface plate, "wha' can we do ye fer tonight? I'm gettin'all wet just lookin' at ye." His lip-plates ghost Ironhide's in an almost-kiss when he speaks.

"How about a little demonstration for starters? You know what I enjoy seeing, so you are free to come up with something fun."

Crosshairs hums in pleased amusement. "I think I 'ave an idea or two." Then he licks Ironhide's bottom lip-plate, trying to coax the Topkick to play along with him.

Ironhide allows Crosshairs's questing tongue to slip into his intake, answering the kiss, and Barricade looks out of the corner of his optics, one tracking the kiss, one staring at how Crosshairs' digits blatantly rubs the bigger mech's interface plate.

His other two optics are locked on the other mech, a mech he hasn't seen before. He lacks the colourful plating of Crosshairs, multicolored in an almost rusty brown and worn blue, decorated with glyphs. His entire frame looks sharp and angled, and he has eight bright red optics. Barricade pointedly does not look closer at how his interface panel is left open. The mech's toothy intake pulls into a smirk, then he leans in close to Barricade.

"So you're the reason the big boss has been... _unavailable _all night for weeks. Can't say I blame him; you're so damned _pretty._ I'm Dreadbot." His voice is sultry and inviting.

"B-Barricade." The Saleen stutters in a squeaky voice, because apparently_, Dreadbot_ prefers to greet mechs by toying with the plating on the inside of the mech's thigh, instead of just shaking servos.

"It will be a pleasure to... get to_ know_ you." 

Barricade's vents hitch when the innuendo is followed by a glossa slowly sliding along his helm-fin before Dreadbot straightens to look down at Barricade, smirk still in place.

"Enjoy the show." He says, momentarily offlining four of his optics in a wink, servos reaching for Crosshairs, who's still making out with Ironhide.


	104. Chapter 104

Dreadbot folds back his sharp denta to form supple lip-plates instead, and Crosshairs meets him in a kiss that would border on lewd and lascivious behavior if they had been in public; all battling glossa and wandering servos. And that's even before taking the rubbing of their bare arrays against each other's thighs with grinding rolls of their hips into account.

Barricade is almost embarrassed to look, because it does feel like something he shouldn't be watching, but he can't even force himself to look away, because it's such an arousing display, his optics seem glued to the two mechs. _They're completely shameless, unaffected by the optics following their every move, fields extended and openly aroused._

"They really do know how to enjoy themselves." Ironhide murmurs in his audial, and Barricade still can't tell if it's a barb. 

He just nods, optics still riveted to the mechs making out in front of him, mind too preoccupied to linger on what the Topkick means.

"On the table?" Crosshairs murmurs, smirking against Dreadbot's lips.

"Table's fine." Ironhide answers, reminding Barricade of who's really in charge of this perverted little show.

Dreadbot takes a seat on the edge of the table, legs spread to give them perfect view of his bare array, and then he reclines to lean on his elbows. Crosshairs takes a seat next to him, servo slowly sliding down ventral plating towards the other mech's puffy valve-lips, while he leans in to lick along a seam in Dreadbot's chest-plates.

_He really shouldn't look, and he really_, really _shouldn't get aroused by what these pleasurebots are doing for their pimp. But he's unable to stop himself_.


	105. Chapter 105

There's something utterly delectable about the way Dreadbot lets his helm fall back, intake opening in a quiet gasp that is anything but insincere, when Crosshairs digits explore his folds with deliberate slowness. The black and green mech throws a lascivious smirk their way as he flicks Dreadbot's node, the other mech moaning loudly.

Barricade distractedly takes another deep swig of his high grade, as if that would be enough to give him the strength to look away from the blatant display of an act that should be so very private.

_Is that what it looks like when Ironhide toys with his array? No wonder why the Topkick seems to enjoy to play with him, and stare at what he's doing; it's so fucking hot._

Absentmindedly, Barricade closes the information pop-up about the increase in speed of his cooling fans, and takes another drag on his cyg, just to occupy himself with something. 

_As if physically doing something else would absolve him from the guilt of taking pleasure in watching this brand of "entertainment." Sure, he has been to clubs before, but this is different, and not just because the clubs followed the rules, and no show ever went this far. Those mechs worked there of their own free will. Here, they're all owned by Ironhide, right?_

Those thoughts are forgotten when Crosshairs' digits slip into Dreadbot's valve, and Barricade's optics are riveted to how they disappear between plump valve-lips, just to emerge again, glistening with lubricant. The noise Dreadbot does when the digits slide inside again is unadulterated want and unashamed pleasure, and his field flares in an enticing way that's new to Barricade, but it sends another wave of confusing heat to his own valve nonetheless.

_Is he really the sort of mech who _enjoys _bottoming for others? Will _he_ be the one being fingered in public the next time? Will he be the one doing the pleasuring? Will he enjoy it?_


	106. Chapter 106

Ironhide's servo slides up the inside of his thigh, a ghost of a touch against his heated plating, digits stopping just inches before they reach Barricade's interface plate. Barricade shifts to get it higher without thinking about it, unconsciously wanting something to relieve the throbbing that's turning into an ache. _As if his frame is jealous of the attention Dreadbot's array is getting._

He's definitely slick behind his still closed panel now, his frame is getting too hot, and he can't tear his optics away from the pair of mechs having a good time on the table.

_They clearly enjoy this, fields aroused and reaching out to mingle with Barricade's in a clear invitation, and his field latches on to Ironhide's too, the Topkick clearly turned on and unashamed about it. It's hard not to be reeled into it, get dragged under by the staggering amount of arousal assaulting him._

The high grade is getting to his helm, the astro-weed certainly isn't helping and Barricade's panel pops open without permission as he grinds against those digits that hasn't made any moves yet, just hovered there to allow him to decide if he wants to take his own pleasure or not.

Lubricant dribbles out, gathered to pool behind the plate already, and it obscenely runs down his aft to stain the couch, and he's somehow vaguely mortified without really being able to care when cooler air finally reaches his uncomfortably hot and swollen valve-lips.

"Want us te show ye a good time, Cade?" Crosshairs asks, bright optics locked on Barricade's bare valve, fingers still pumping into Dreadbot's wet valve. "Ye look like ye could need some release..."

_Does he? They're in the middle of the room, there's a party going on around him, but somehow that feels so distant, as if the other mechs are behind a screen and can't see, won't notice, and he's so revved up, valve hot and swollen, pulsing with an aching need..._

"Yes, _please!"_


	107. Chapter 107

Crosshairs stops playing with Dreadbot and kneels between Barricade's pedes instead. He smirks up at the Interceptor when he cups Barricade's aft and pulls him closer to the edge of the seat.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Barricade squeaks.

"Relax and just enjoy it. Cross is really good at what he does." Ironhide murmurs in his audial, digits stroking Barricade's headlight.

Crosshairs pushes Barricade's thighs farther apart, exposing his array, and the Saleen swallows nervously. Dreadbot slithers up next to him, one servo toying with Barricade's shoulder-wing, the other teasing the seams in his chest-plates, but the Mustang's attention is still on Crosshairs when the black and green mech leans forward...

_Swiping his glossa through Barricade's wet slit!_

The Interceptor mewls at the contact, unprepared for it. Dreadbot leans in to nibble his neck-cables, and it's so much sensation at once, Barricade doesn't know what to focus on. Crosshairs starts to flick Barricade's node with his glossa, Dreadbot expertly finds sensor relays and sensitive wiring beneath his plating, and Barricade's charge is skyrocketing. Evereything else falls away, and he's reduced to a trembling, mewling mess, racing towards release, that sweet edge he just want to throw himself over as quickly as he can.

A single digit slips into him, slowly teasing with light caresses, and it's nowhere near enough. He grinds down against it, but Crosshairs backs off, lapping the rim of Barricade's valve instead of his node.

The Saleen growls in frustration, and it earns him a chuckle from Dreadbot.

"You wan't more?" Dreadbot purrs.

"Yes!" _Isn't that obvious?_

"What do you want?"

Suddenly, he's flustered, because dirty talk isn't something Barricade is used to engaging in. _Well, except for the degrading kind he used to spew when fucking hookers. Asking for what he wants them to do with his valve is a very different thing. He doesn't even really know himself._

"I... _more!_ Keep doing that, I want to overload."

"So ye don' want somethin' bigger in this soaked pussy of yers?" Crosshairs asks, slowly sliding another digit into Barricade's valve.

_It feels so good with the stretch, with something for his calipers to clench around. Maybe he does? But he really likes what they're doing, the barrage of pleasurable input. But something bigger inside him would feel so good..._

"I do, but please don't stop with the other things you're doing."

"Good answer." Dreadbot murmurs in his audial, a smirk in his voice.


	108. Chapter 108

"So how about we let the big boss provide the cock and Cross and I keep taking care of you?"

_What?_

"H-how do you mean?"

Crosshairs is still pumping his digits into Barricade's valve, circling his node with a deft thumb, and it's just too hard to try to figure things out by himself.

"You could take a ride and let us handle the rest."

Barricade's optics brighten, because he had actually forgotten that Ironhide was sitting right beside him. He whips his helm around to find the massive Bot watching him with bright optics, langorously stroking his spike. Crosshairs stops playing with his valve, and Barricade whimpers at the loss.

"All yours if you want it." Hide rumbles, voice laced with static.

_Whether he wants it or not._ But Barricade is intoxicated, and revved higher than he has been in a long time, and for the first time he really wants to have something inside him, filling him up in that way that actually feels kind of good. _Might as well take Hide's cock now and get something out of it._

Barricade swings around to straddle the Topkick's thighs, his valve drooling lubricant over the mech's plating.

"Good choice." Dreadbot purrs in his audial before turning his attention to licking and sucking at Barricade's neck-cables, one servo finding his shoulder-wing again.

Barricade rolls his hips, making the head of Ironhide's spike slip through his slick folds, and then he grinds down to get it inside. Behind him, Crosshairs leans in to nip at his other shoulder-wing, one of his servos sliding down Barricade's ventral plating to where the Interceptor and the Topkick are joined, deft digit continuing to stroke Barricade's node. Dreadbot plucks with wires and cables on Barricade's frame, quickly mapping out his sensitive spots, and Barricade rides Ironhide quickly, racing towards his overload at a pace he might've found embarrassing, had he had the wherewithal to think about it.

"Ye're so ho' like this." Crosshairs murmurs in his audial, still working Barricade's node with his digits.

It takes no more than a few more flicks of his node for Barricade to overload. With a loud warble, he grinds down on Ironhide's spike, and Crosshairs' digit, and rides it out, valve contracting around that spike.

Frame going lax, he tips forward, resting his helm against Ironhide's chest-plates while he catches his vents, fans spinning on full speed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New year to everyone who celebrates that! May 2020 be a prosperous year, with lots of awesome fics!
> 
> Edit: I'm leaving this note here just to let everyone have a laugh at me, because apparently new year's Eve is tommorow.🙈 In my defense, I had just woken up and not gotten any coffee...


	109. Chapter 109

While he's completely spent, Ironhide's spike is still hard inside him. Barricade is vaguely aware of how it's probably rude to stop before Ironhide has overloaded too, but for long seconds, he's too blissed out to care. Then he's rudely reminded of where they are.

"I'll give him 5 for initiative, 9 for eagerness, but the overall impression only gets a 6 for lack of stamina." Nitro Zeus rumbles to Ironhide.

Ironhide barks a laugh, bucking up into the still limp — but now also mortified Interceptor — who's hiding his face against Ironhide's chest-plates.

_Nitro saw, and he just doesn't want to know exactly how big an audience they have. _

"So, _Daddy_... May I 'ave the honor te finish ye?" Crosshairs purrs to Ironhide.

"You did so well, that was so hot." Dreadbot murmurs in Barricade's audial. "C'mon, let's watch Cross take care of the boss."

He's helped from Ironhide's lap and plunks down on the couch next to Ironhide. His thighs and array are still wet and slick of his lubricant, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when he's physically still feeling so good after his overload — while simultaneously wanting to melt through the couch from embarrassment. Dreadbot hands him another cube of high grade, and he immediately drinks half of it to occupy himself, and to take the edge off. Seeing Crosshairs licking Ironhide's plating, cleaning away Barricade's lubricant with his glossa is all too sobering, and a quick glance around the room confirms that there probably was quite a few mechs who witnessed him doing..._that._

Dreadbot presses up to him, wrapping his arms around Barricade to pluck with cables and plates, and they watch Crosshairs suck Ironhide's spike into his intake, eagerly bobbing his helm. Ironhide's servo comes to rest at the back of his helm.

"He can take you all the way, can't he?" Nitro Zeus rumbles from behind them, patting Hide's shoulder.

"You know it. A really good little slut."

Crosshairs mewls around the spike in his intake, and Nitro barks a laugh at the attempted confirmation.

As if to demonstrate it, Ironhide bucks up, pushing Crosshairs helm deeper until his nasal ridge nudges Ironhide's pelvic plating. Crosshairs moans, and then he's obviously swallowing frantically when Ironhide overloads.

Barricade feels his lips curl with disgust.

_He really enjoyed _getting_ blowjobs, but swallowing cum is just... Ugh._

He takes another deep swig from his high grade, trying to wash away the imagined taste of spike in his intake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And let's try this again, since it's the right day today! XD
> 
> Happy New year!


	110. Chapter 110

It's his first hangover since he went to prison, and it's so much worse than he remembered it. _Well, except that time in the alley, but that was different. _

Barricade onlines his optics and is immediately immensely thankful for Ironhide's penchant for always having the thick curtains closed. He finds himself sprawled on his front, helm at the foot of the berth, and after he stretches, he offlines his optics again, not feeling the least ready to get up. Not even to get coolant, and judging by his helm ache, he probably needs coolant. Barricade's tank protests too, rolling queasily, but there's no way he's going to drag himself all the way to the refuelling room. Ignoring that his legs are tangled with someone's arm or leg, the helm on his lower back, and the servo on his aft, he allows his mind to go blank, slipping back into recharge. _It's probably way too early anyway._

He wakes up again sometime later, and in spite of not feeling much better, he finally drags his sorry aft from the berth.

Untangling himself takes a bit of manoeuvering, but he crawls over the foot of the berth to not disturb his berth partner, and plunks down to sit on the floor to allow the room to stop spinning, and to gather the power to get into the washracks. 

_He needs a quick shower, and then some coolant, and maybe a pain re-router chip or two. Probably should have some low grade too._

His processor is really muzzy, so even after he stands up, it takes him far more seconds than usual to compute his optical feed into something coherent. Or maybe it's just incredulity?

Barricade doesn't even notice how his servos cover his intake in horror, his spark sinking into his tank.

_There's no less than four other mechs still recharging on the berth. He's been in a fragging orgy._

Servos still covering his intake, he runs into the washracks and barely reaches the sink before he purges.


	111. Chapter 111

He rinses his mouth and drinks some water from the faucet, knowing that he should have properly mixed coolant, but not in the mood to make even a quick run to the refuelling room. _He needs a fragging shower, like, yesterday._

Barricade starts the solvent and sinks to the floor under the spray, tank still in upheaval. He reaches down to touch his array, trying to piece together what he did, even if he isn't really sure he wants to know.

_Not what he did, who. Ironhide, Nitro Zeus, Crosshairs, and Dreadbot is who he did._

His valve is slippery, and there's the feeling of having been fucked last night, but that's not out of the ordinary, not these days, but he's not that sore.

The things they did on the couch, he remembers, and while the memory still make Barricade flush, he's more worried about what happened later. The Mustang remembers drinking high grade, and smoking, and Dreadbot working his frame again. _Making out with Jazz? _It's a heavily fragmented memory, but Barricade is certain: at some point, he was making out with Jazz. _Fingering his lover. Mechs watching._ Even under the cool solvent, he can feel his face-plates burning. _He's no different than Crosshairs and Dreadbot._

Barricade pushes those thoughts to the side. _What else. Drift passed out? Across the lap of a golden mech, who was doing stuff with the Speedster's array, digits pumping into Drift's valve._ The Interceptor frowns. _That's not ok._ _Was that what happened to him when he wound up in Hide's berth with all the others? Passed out and used..._

Doing his best to not think about that, Barricade rises from the floor, starting to scrub his frame, because he feels more filthy for every second he thinks about last night.

_He can ask Crosshairs later. The mech will probably tell him what happened in great detail. If he really wants to know._


	112. Chapter 112

At least he's clean, but that doesn't really make him feel any better when he pads down the hallway and down the stairs, heading for the refuelling room. Barricade passes the recreational area, walking as quietly as he can, because there are still mechs recharging on the couches, passed out more or less on top of each other, and he doesn't feel like interacting with people he's hardly acquainted with but still might know more about what he has done than he does himself.

Thankfully, the refuelling room is empty, and Barricade digs out a bottle of coolant from the cooler, and then he grabs a cube from the cupboard, pouring half a cube of med grade. He downs in one go, grimacing at the taste, before he refills it with sweetened low grade.

Barricade turns to leave the room, but then he pauses.

_He can't go back to Ironhide's room. It has been his living quarters too for his stay here, but he really doesn't feel like going back there right now and possibly face the other mechs in there. _

What Barricade really wants is to drink his coolant and energon, and then go back to recharge, but where is he going to do that? Barricade knows that he could try his luck and go to Jazz's room, but he's hesitant about it.

_What if Jazz isn't there? He could be in someone else's berth. Or worse, he could have company in there already._

It's not logical, because Barricade _knows_ what Jazz does for a living, and he's painfully aware of how he's paying rent himself, but he can't help it. _Seeing it first hand is something he isn't sure he can stomach right now._

But he doesn't feel like trying to find an empty couch in the rec room either, so steeling himself, Barricade grabs another bottle of coolant and a cube of energon, then he heads for Jazz's room.


	113. Chapter 113

He knocks on the door, and there's a muffled grunt from inside the room before the door swings open. Jazz is sprawled on his berth, but thankfully, he's alone.

"Mornin'." Jazz's voice is rough, and he sounds like he just wants to go back to recharge.

"Hey. Brought you some stuff."

"Aaw, that's so sweet of ya, babe. I have pain routers in tha storage unit. Can ya grab me a couple?" Jazz asks sweetly, an impish smile in place.

Barricade opens the top drawer and spots the package. "Can I have a couple too?"

"Of course."

He grabs the entire package before he goes to sit on the berth. Jazz grabs the bottle of coolant and drinks it all in one go, while Barricade grabs a couple of routers and plugs them into his medical sockets. Jazz does the same before he even touches the energon.

"So... uhm, last night?" Barricade asks uncertainly.

He has been drunk before, but he rarely has allowed himself to get that wasted. No, he usually preferred to feel like he was still in control. 

_For good reasons, apparently, considering he obviously turns into a total slut when he's drunk off his aft._

"It was so wild!" Jazz says, sounding much more enthusiastic than Barricade feels. "But tha brothers always knew how ta throw a good party. I heard Cross went down on ya, ya lucky bastard. He's so fuckin' good with his mouth!"

"I-I guess he is..." Barricade stutters, thrown for a loop.

"Don' look so surprised," Jazz snickers, "jus' 'cause we sell interfacin' for a job doesn' mean we never do it for fun. I frag you, ya know. That's 'cause I like ya, 'n I wanna sleep with ya n' share a good time."

"Yeah, it's just... I'm still getting used to everything. And I don't really remember everything that happened yesterday."

Jazz pats the berth next to him, having finished his cube. Barricade sets his empty bottle on the floor next Jazz's, stretching out beside Jazz. He wraps an arm around his lover, feeling tired, and Jazz's field tells him that the other mech wants to recharge some more too.

"We had some fun, and ya primed me for Blackout. Then ya started making out with Dreadbot again when I left with Blackout, n' by tha time I came back, ya had already gone ta Hide's room.

"I don't remember that. I just remember waking up in the same berth as Ironhide, Nitro Zeus, Crosshairs, and Dreadbot." Barricade whispers weakly.

"Sounds like an interesting night. I can try ta help ya ta recover those memories later, but I wanna recharge more first." Jazz says, snuggling closer.

_Well, he's not really in a hurry. Does he even want to know what he did?_


	114. Chapter 114

He reboots slowly, not feeling sick anymore, just worn in that way he remembers that he always used to get after a night of heavy drinking.

"Afternoon, babe," Jazz purrs, pressing in closer, "wanna frag?"

_He has been fragging like a petrorabbit since he moved in here, and he's still a bit hung over, and all he wants to do is cuddle and slip in and out of recharge all day. How can Jazz possibly want to fuck right now?_

"Is it really what you want to do?"

"I dunno. I thought ya wanned ta."

"Not right now, I'm still tired. Is it fine with you to just snuggle?" His spark spins nervously when he asks the question, and it's an alien emotion in this situation, because he always used to go for fucking, and cuddling was something that happened afterwards.

_What if Jazz doesn't want him to hog half his berth, what if he wants to go find someone else who might be up for a frag?_

"Cuddlin' sounds good. I like that. I jus' wasn' sure what ya wanned." He presses his lip-plates against Barricade's cheek as if to prove a point, settling in and making himself comfortable. "Ya want me ta help ya with tha memory files?"

"I don't know if I really want to know..."

"Whatever ya did, I think it's safe ta say that it ain't anythin' anyone here will raise an optical ridge at. So it's up ta ya ta decide if ya'll think more about it if ya don' know or if ya know what happened."

_Does he really want to know? He can't be embarrassed about something he can't remember and relate to. But then again, he will not be able to answer if someone alludes to whatever happened._

"Can you help me with it? I think I won't ever stop wondering what happened otherwise.

"Sure thing!" 

Jazz pulls out a data cable and hands it to Barricade. He takes the cable and slips the plug into the socket on one of his arms, tank tightening with nerves. Barricade grabs a bottle of coolant and drinks from it, mostly to occupy his servos, when virtual handshakes are exchanged, and he allows Jazz access to some of his files.


	115. Chapter 115

It's almost a shock to find that he didn't interface with all the mechs he woke up with. _At least not while he was conscious, but Jazz informs him that neither Ironhide, nor Nitro Zeus think it's fun to use an unresponsive mech, especially not when there's willing mechs who are still awake and eager to play._ A pleasant surprise, of course, but he was so certain that he had been the center of attention, he's almost befuddled to find out he wasn't.

He feels Jazz's amusement over the connection when they check the memory files together, and see Ironhide shove Nitro Zeus onto the berth with a grin.

"Get on there, you glitch!" Ironhide growls. 

The big Flier lands on his front, laughing when Crosshairs pounces on him, straddling his back. Ironhide joins the pair, but then Barricade gets distracted by Dreadbot again, and he doesn't see what the others engage in, because he's fully preoccupied with the wonderful things Dreadbot does with his digits, and with sucking and licking at every cable and wire he can reach on Dreadbot's frame.

The memories are glitchy at best due to the high grade he'd had, but they find enough for him to feel certain he wasn't tag teamed by everyone, and that's enough for Barricade to feel better. 

_He isn't ready for dealing with something like that, even if he wasn't unwilling to do what he did with Dreadbot._

"Ya good?"

"Yeah, much better. Thanks for the help."

"Of course, babe! Any time." Jazz says, disconnecting his cable. 

"You know, I never got around to ask how you wound up here."

"With Hide?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know you told me that you were thinking about moving, but then you disappeared, and since I was released, we never really talked about that."

_Come to think of it, they never really had deeper conversations at all, except when they made up after he realized what he did to Jazz. _

Barricade could smack himself in the face for it.

_Way to go to build a more meaningful relationship than just being fuck buddies when they are not whoring themselves out to others. _


	116. Chapter 116

"I moved, found a new area, but I didn' know it was controlled by tha Decepticons. One night, one of their pimps approached me. Said I better start payin' rent for my corner. I didn' have a lot of credits, n' I needed them for fuel. He dragged me ta their boss — Onslaught." Jazz says with a shudder. There's a slight tremble to his voice when he speaks.

Barricade hugs him, presses Jazz close to his chest in what meager comfort he can offer.

"They had a brothel, n' the deal was that I'd pay off my debt by working there for some time. I'd get energon at work, so outside of working tha brothel, I only had ta hook enough ta get money ta rent a room at a motel. It sounded fair. Tha only problem was that I had ta keep paying rent for tha corner I used ta make my rent money, so I had ta work a lot in tha brothel ta make a dent in my debt at tha same time as I was payin' tha current rent."

_Which doesn't seem much worse than what Jazz is doing now, because while Ironhide provides everything, Jazz hardly makes any credits himself. And he's still fucking anyone for a living._

"One of the Cons took a likin' ta me. _Brawl_, a big Tank of a mech. He started out bein' pretty nice, n' I hooked up with him outside of work for a while. Turned out ta be a sadist, though. He was only satisfied when I cried n' begged him ta stop honestly, wouldn' settle for me acting. Slapped me around when I tried ta break up with him. He kept me so sore, I could hardly get through my shifts, let alone work tha corner."

"So why didn't you just move again?" _Seems stupid to stay in a place like that, allowing himself to be a victim._

"I would've, if it had been an option, I mean I'm not a complete dummy!" Jazz says sharply.

_He's doing it again, isn't he? Being a judgemental aft, jumping to conclusions._

_Yeah, you are. Or are you liking it so much here — being a whore — you've already forgotten what hard choices life offers at some points? How it feels to do stuff you don't want to just to survive?_

_Shut up. He wouldn't stay if he was being abused._

_Right..._

_Fuck you. _


	117. Chapter 117

"I tried ta leave. Got kicked outta tha motel I was stayin' at because I couldn' pay, n' I was completely broke. So I was drivin' off, thinking I could just split, n' not work for them anymore. I mean, I was gonna leave their territory, so I didn' hafta pay rent anymore, right? Turned out I was wrong. Turned a corner, almost ran right into Brawl. He dragged me back ta tha brothel. Onslaught beat me ta scrap for tryn'a run, n' then I was chained ta a berth."

Barricade can't stay still anymore. He untangles himself from Jazz, because even if his lover might need the comfort, Barricade's entire frame is crawling. 

"They chained you to a berth?! What the fuck! What kind of twisted punishment is that?" He snarls as he paces the room, gesticulating wildly.

"Wasn' a punishment," Jazz says quietly, squirming in discomfort when thinking about it, "it was my new 'workin' conditions'. Made it easy for 'em ta know I wasn' runnin' away, n' jus' sell as much time with me as they saw fit. I took a lotta customers every night, no matter how sore or tired I was..."

"Who the hell would want to fuck someone like that? It had to be obvious that you didn't want it!"

_He should've been there, should've kept Jazz from winding up there. It was so far beyond what he had ever imagined. He'd spent the nights when recharge eluded him wallowing in jealousy, thinking Jazz had someone new who spent his night's in Jazz's berth. All the while, his lover had been chained to a berth and raped over and over._

"Well, ya have tha sadists, they're obviously goin' ta have a field day, n' then there's tha more garden variety power-kinks. Some jus' want a hole ta stick their spikes in..."

Barricade wants to just clap his servos over his audials — because he doesn't want to hear it, wants to deny it, and he hates how bland Jazz manages to sound when he talks about it — but he doesn't, because it would just be proof of how he's constantly preoccupied with his own sensibilities.

"It did get better after a while, when they started ta keep me drugged."


	118. Chapter 118

"Excuse me. Still hung over, need to purge." Barricade manages to grind out, swallowing repeatedly to push down the energon and coolant rising to the back of his intake.

"I'm not goin' anywhere anytime soon." Jazz mumbles, still sounding tired, but there's a suspicious waver to his voice.

Barricade manages to nod, then he hurries towards the maintenance room. He barely makes it in time, but as soon as the door slams shut behind him, he bends over the sink and purges. Leaning his forehelm against his arms, he vents unsteadily, riding out the next wave of nausea with a shudder wracking his frame, then he rinses his mouth with the water from the tap before he feels good to go back.

Jazz is still stretched out on the berth, and Barricade joins him, snuggling in close again.

"Sorry," he says a bit sheepishly, because once again, he let himself take precedence over Jazz, "you said they started to drug you?"

"Ya. Got me hooked ta heavy routers. Made it less painful ta be used so much, n' in tha ways they did, but it was just a different variety of chains. Guess who controlled tha router-trade in tha area?"

"They did." Barricade says flatly, because it isn't hard to guess.

"Yep, n' they kept me so out of it, I didn' really think 'bout runnin'. They stopped chainin' me after a while, but I still wasn' allowed ta leave tha bordello, n' they had guards at tha door at all times."

"So how did you even get out of there?"

"One of my coworkers kept ramblin' 'bout how he shouldn've left 'them', that it was better there, that he should'a behaved. First time he was brought in, he had an etching, later I learned it was the Autobrand. Berserker tore that plate clean off him without anythin' for tha pain, laughin' as he did it. Anyway, I thought it was just junkie ramblings, he was very unhinged, but he kept cryin' for Motormaster whenever we were alone. He never sobered up enough ta tell a coherent story, n' then he offlined from an overdose a few weeks later."

"So that's how you heard of the Autobots?"

"Nah, didn' know what tha brand was, n' Wildrider never mentioned them by name. He'd probably be beaten up by Onslaught if he did. I don' even know for how long I was there, but it was a very long time. Then the turf war began."


	119. Chapter 119

"Turf war?"

"I was pretty drugged up most of tha time, but I did see injured Cons comin' in from time ta time, n' I heard of casualties. Onslaught was so pissed off 'bout it, because they lost some territory too, n' part of tha drug supply routes were cut off. I didn' care much, not 's long as they kept me on a roll."

_It's both easy and hard to imagine Jazz that deep into drug abuse, because while Barricade knew that he was using a little bit of this and that back then, Jazz somehow always kept from getting too deep into his addictions._

"Then one night, the war reached us. I'd been twirlin' 'round a dance pole, runnin' on Nuke alone for so many hours, I was 'bout ta collapse. So I glanced at tha bouncer, wondering if I could sneak off for jus' a minute or two ta steal some energon n' sit down, or I'd fall into stasis. Overlord was guardin' tha door that night, a big, brutal bastard. I hated him so damned much, but as I glared at him, his fuckin' helm exploded. I freaked out, high as I was, thinking I did that." Jazz says, shuddering at the memory.

Barricade pulls him closer, gluing himself to Jazz as closely as he can.

_In spite of the action he did see while he was on the force, it was never a situation like that, and he can't even begin to imagine how terrifying it would be when unarmed and high, and not clear helmed and running on emergency protocols to speed up his processor._

"Everything was quiet enough ta hear a pin drop for seconds that felt like years. Then suddenly everyone was panickin' n' screamin', n' I unfroze n' ran to tha back of tha room on pure instinct, along with all tha other pleasurebots. Tha Decepticons scrambled ta get ready ta fight, shoutin' ta each other, tryin' ta reach their brothers over comms, but the comms were jammed. It was complete chaos. So we just ran through tha door to tha backstage hallway, lined with storage n' detailin' rooms, n' a backdoor at tha end of it. Tha door was always locked — ta not give us a way ta escape — but we ran for it anyway. I was first, n' I remember swearin' ta Primus that I'd do whatever he pointed me to for tha rest of my functioning if he'd just give me this one thing, if that fuckin' door would just cooperate n' not trap me back there. I was just meters away when I heard a shot n' tha door was kicked open."


	120. Chapter 120

"Ow!"

"Oh! Sorry, Jazz. Didn't mean to grab you so hard. I just wanted to hold on to you..." Barricade says sheepishly, releasing his grip on his... _Whatever they are._

"'s ok."

"Well, what happened?! The door opened..."

"I came to a screeching halt, stopping just before skiddin' straight into Blackout. He towered over me; huge, dark as the night, n' completely terrifyin', guns everywhere, all of them charged n' ready. I fell ta my knees, convinced my time was up, n' I remember cryin', n' beggin' him ta spare me."

The way Jazz is telling it has Barricade on edge, and he has to fight the urge to grab the Solstice harder again out of reflex.

"He told me ta shut up, n' to this day, I don't know how I managed ta obey, because I was wailin' in terror at that point. Blackout grabbed me by the arm n' hoisted me up, orderin' everyone into tha detailin' room. He dragged me there, n' shoved me inside. I remember fallin' flat on my front, hearin' him growlin' that if we made a single sound or somethin' else stupid, he would come back, shoot us all, n' watch us leak out. Then he locked us in there."

Barricade shudders, the distress in Jazz's field contagious. 

"I curled up against the farthest wall, hiding among the fabric clothing hangin' from a rack there, convinced he'd come back n' shoot me, 'cause I just couldn' stop sobbin'. There was more shoutin' n' shots fired — all muffled by tha door — n' it felt like it went on forever, but then it got quiet. Like, really quiet. I think I held my vents from then until tha door opened again. I didn' dare ta look, covered my helm with my arms n' listened while several sets of heavy pedesteps came into tha room. Everyone else fell quiet, I just waited for the screaming ta start when they decided ta just execute us."

Jazz drags a deep but shuddering vent and turns to reach for a cyg. _Well, the need for prescription weed for anxiety might not be all that much of a lie in this place. If something like that had happened to an Enforcer, they'd get counseling._

"I heard one of 'em bark an order ta check us fort etchings n' stuff, n' they started ta mechhandle everyone, checkin' our platin'. We were all so scared, nobody protested either." Jazz says, stifling a sob.

"Come on Jazz, you're killing me here, and you're upsetting yourself. If it's really hard on you to think about it, you don't have to tell me the story if you don't want to." _Even if he's dying to know in that 'watching the trainwreck' kind of way._

"I want ya ta know, 's jus' hard. Maybe I can show ya tha memory instead?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Barricade says, holding out his arm for Jazz to plug in. _Even if he isn't certain he wants to see whatever happened next._


	121. Chapter 121

There's a moment of vertigo when they connect, then he is in the memory Jazz opens. Barricade can feel the presence of Jazz, and it grounds him as the memory starts, a thin thread pf safety that keeps him from being completely lost when he's immersed in Jazz's experience.

He's huddled among the hanging fabrics on the rack he is cowering under, and he can see the others be pulled from their places along the walls and under the tables with polish and waxes, none of them putting up a real fight, just the weak reluctance of terrified mechs, far outmassed and outgunned.

Everyone is checked over and inspected, patted down, and felt up. Then he's the only one left, his pede grabbed by a dangerous looking truck former — somewhere he knows that it's Motormaster, but Jazz didn't know back then, so the knowledge seems like a figment of his imagination — and he's pulled out of his hidingplace. He hears the whimpering that leaves his vocalizer, but nobody gives a fuck about his distress when he's pulled to his pedes. Rough servos search him, groping under plating, scans tingle, and he feels small and bare when cold optics scrutinize him.

_Like a cyberlamb in a marketplace, to be sold or carted off to slaughter. _

Jazz's thought flashes into his consciousness as if it was his own, and it makes Barricade shudder, because it's such a fitting description and so disturbingly clear and reasonable in the context of the situation in spite of the memories being hazed by terror and drugs.

They find his Decepticon brand, aquired at some point when Jazz was so drugged up, he didn't even notice, and as unwanted as any slave-brand would ever be.

"Get out! Back to the main room!" Blackout barks an order, waving his gun around, and they all get moving, crowding each other in the narrow doorway to not be the last one out.

Barricade can feel his sobs and hitching vents, the terror rippling down his back-struts as they are lead back to the room they fleed when the shooting started.

_It is a battle-zone._ Tables and chairs are knocked over — if they aren't in pieces — and there's energon and other fluids spattered all over the place. A frame is hanging halfway over tha edge of a podium. _Brawl, the sadist, and Jazz's memory is painted by vindictive glee when watching the limp and gray frame. _

Then a movement catches his admittedly hazy optics, and finally, he spots the other mech in the room. In the middle of the mayhem, Ironhide is sitting on the center stage, lazily dangling his legs over the edge. 

_As if it is just a day by the lake, and not the aftermath of a bloody war._

He almost cackles hysterically when he thinks that they're POWs, waiting for their judgement, unhinged in the way only a terrified mech can be. Ironhide is obviously the boss, and he'll be the judge, the jury, and possibly the executioner if he enjoys that kind of action, and they can do jack shit about it.

Ironhide looks over the spoils carefully before he jumps down from the stage with a smooth movement, far more agile than one would expect from such a massive mech, and he comes to stand in front of the scared pleasurebots.

"There's been a change of management in this area."


	122. Chapter 122

"Are anyone of you here of your own free will?" Ironhide rumbles, icy optics scanning the crowd.

He doesn't dare to speak up, but someone else is either braver, or suicidal. "No!"

More mechs chime in, lower and more hesitant, but still agreeing, and Jazz dares shaking his helm to show that he isn't either.

"Right. Like I said, the old management is either deactivated, or running off somewhere to clean the piss from their panels, so you are free all mechs. We don't deal in slaves, so if you have other places to go, feel free to leave."

It's all quiet for some time, all the pleasurebots looking incredulously between one another, not daring to believe it. Jazz has the fleeting thought that it's a trick, that as soon as someone tries to leave, they will be shot, but then that brave/suicidal Racer breaks out of the crowd and heads for the door with quick steps, and nothing happens. 

More mechs follow, filing out quickly, but Jazz lingers. He's running on nothing, withdrawal is setting in, it's obviously night already, and he has nowhere to go. 

_He'll be lucky to get through the night without going into stasis, and that's before considering what may happen to him out in the streets._

It's such a risk, because who knows what this mech is like, what he can do, and it isn't like Jazz wants to stay in this place, in the situation he has been for such a long time, but time is of the essence, and he just can't afford to look for a new place to work right now, let alone try to get enough money for fuel, drugs, and a motel room before something gives. Ironhide studies the dawdling pleasurebots.

"I do employ whores who meet my demands and are willing to make a deal." Ironhide says.

Jazz finds himself nodding, and he sees how Ironhide's intake pulls into a smirk as he slowly looks Jazz up and down, cocking his helm in consideration.

"Hide! Cross commed me. Enforcement is coming in fast." One of the other gang mechs calls out.

"Then we better go. So, little mechs, if you want to hear my offer, I suggest you follow me."

With that, all the gang mechs scatter. Jazz glances at the other pleasurebot still lingering, then he heads for the bar, pouring down the drink still standing on the counter to get some energy into his systems. He subspaces as many bottles as he can before following Ironhide's retreating form out the front door, then he transforms and is forced to redline his little engine to keep up with the black Topkick as they run away from the approaching sirens, the other pleasurebot driving off the other way.


	123. Chapter 123

The memory file ends, and Jazz picks through them to make a time skip forward. 

When the next one starts, he's standing in root mode in an alley with Ironhide. Nitro Zeus lands behind Jazz, between him and the only way out of the alley. His spark speeds up, because he's small, weak, and unarmed, boxed in alone with two big and heavily armed thugs he knows nothing about, except that they don't hesitate to use violence to get what they want.

"Frag, Hide, this one's hot." Nitro Zeus says, pressing up against Jazz from behind. 

The Flier slides big servos down Jazz's sides, thumbs hooking in the waist of his fabric pants as if he's going to pull them down. He toys with the edge for endless seconds, then his thumbs dip deeper, rubbing the bare protoform where Jazz's interface plate used to be, just above his spike cover.

Jazz doesn't even tense up. If he's about to be hurt or fucked, it's nothing new, and there's nothing he can do about it. He's so used to not have any right to personal space, he doesn't react when one big servo moves to squeeze his aft.

"You on drugs?" Ironhide asks Jazz, ignoring the Jet who's still groping the pleasurebot.

_As if his tremors of withdrawal isn't enough to tell. _

"Yeah. They supplied me ta make me ta stay." 

_They did more than that, but he doesn't need to go into details with this stranger who might not be much better._

"No heavy drugs in my place. You sober up _today_ if you're going to stay with me. Start using again, your ass is out so fast your helm will be spinning."

Jazz nods slowly, knowing what kind of hell he's in for when quitting, but he has no idea what else to do. One of Nitro's servos slide between his legs, rubbing his array through the thin fabric, and it's a kind of gentle touch he isn't used to, something he hasn't had in a very long time. Jazz's array grows a bit hotter and slicker. 

_Maybe it's a test? To see if he can take it without cringing... After everything he has been through, good petting really isn't something he's going to complain about. The mech knows how to prime a valve, that's for sure._ He moves against that servo, because showing approval can't be wrong.

"I think he's a good choice." Nitro says.

"I provide a place to stay, fuel, maintenance and repairs you need, 90% of your earnings go to me. If we're satisfied with your performance during your trial period, and if you want to stay when it's over." Ironhide addresses Jazz, still ignoring Nitro Zeus.

"So I'm free ta leave if I want?"

"Like I said; I don't deal in slaves. Do as you're told, follow our rules, everything will be fine. You don't like something, you can leave at any minute. There's always someone else who'd like their own hab suite, free fuel and high grade, and medical benefits, I don't see a point in forcing mechs to stay."

Jazz is still uncertain, thinking about all the times he has been roughed up for one transgression or another because of rules that suddenly change, and just downright sadistic pimps. There's no way to know if these mechs will be violent with him or not, but at least they haven't done anything like that yet, and even if Nitro has pushed Jazz's hotpants down to bare his array at this point, he still isn't getting raped, just groped in a way that's surprisingly pleasant. Then he spots it: the badge Hide is wearing.

"Do ya have a mech named Motormaster in your crew?"

Hide's optics dims suspiciously. "Why?"

"Met a mech called Wildrider. He was always cryin' for Motormaster. Had an etching like your badge when he came in." Jazz says.

"Where is he?" Nitro Zeus rumbles behind Jazz, servos stilling.

"Overdosed and deactivated."

"Fuck!" Nitro Zeus mutters, letting go of him.

Emotions flicker across Ironhide's face-plates, to quick to identify, but then he's as stonefaced as ever again.

"Do we have a deal or not?"


	124. Chapter 124

"n' obviously, I made a deal." Jazz says out loud while checking through his files, digits plucking with the plating on Barricade's front.

He opens the next file, and they're at Ratchet's. The cranky Medic — in no better mood than when Barricade visited him — supplies Jazz with a routing chip that'll keep the withdrawal down a bit as the other drugs leave his systems. He gets some upgrades, and he has a physical examination.

"You need to administer this cream twice a day to both your valve and your port. And no interfacing for at least three days."

Ironhide starts to protest, saying something about painkillers, but Ratchet cuts him off immediately.

"Look, not only is he damaged and need time for his self repair to catch up, but he also has contagious rust! If you don't want _everyone_ scratching themselves in two days or whatever your turnover for berth fellows is, Do. Not. Fuck. Him. Because I'm sure none of you would deign to use a condom." He says derisively.

"How about oral?"

Ratchet looks like he's about to explode, but Jazz holds up a servo to catch his attention.

"If I'm not a health hazard, I don' mind suckin' some spike, Doc, so am I good ta go?"

"Yes, your intake is clean." Ratchet says with a disgusted grimace.

"Good, then let's go." Ironhide says and walks out the door, Jazz hurrying to follow.

He's still hard pressed to keep up with Ironhide, who's well fueled and has a powerful engine that's perfectly maintained. He's even more disadvantaged to Nitro Zeus who follows them in the sky at a leisurely pace. They drive through the neighborhood, and a black and green Corvette joins them, revving his engine playfully when they turn the corner and the mansion comes into view. The gates are opened and they drive straight up to the house, transforming when Nitro Zeus lands.

Crosshairs looks Jazz up and down, and he whistles.

"Damn, mech! Yer altmode did _no_' betray how ho' ye are. New employee?"

Jazz nods. "On trial."

"Knock Out is goin' te 'ave a seizure when 'e sees yer platin', but nothin' a good polish n' waxin' can' fix. We'll get tha' sorted tomorrow."

"Thanks?" Jazz says, overwhelmed, but relieved by how friendly the mech seems.

"Don' mention it. I'm Crosshairs, in-house entertainment division, n' first slut of this place." He says, before turning to Hide, "an' if 'e's stayin', ye better get 'im a reformat, 'cause tha' alt mode is an affront te someone so pretty."

Hide snorts and rolls his optics at that, and the reaction makes even more to put Jazz at ease, because if Ironhide doesn't flip out over demands like that, then he's probably not a randomly violent mech to be around.

"Come on...?" Crosshairs says, waving Jazz over.

"I'm Jazz."

"Welcome here, Jazz. Now let's go get some 'igh grade and some good fuckin'. I'm all revved up."


	125. Chapter 125

Jazz doesn't play any more memories after that.

"I was let in, n' I spent tha nights of my trial period in tha berth of whomever wanned me for tha night, n' in tha days I got ta know tha other mechs here. I worked in-house for my trial, ta see if I was good enough ta keep around; that I could follow tha rules n' kick tha drugs. Tha brothers take a vote when tha trial is over, ta make sure that they're all on tha same page. Then when we renegotiated tha contract, I got my own room."

"And you started working the streets again."

"Yeah. In-house workers are picked from those who has stuck 'round for tha longest of time, or are exceptionally good at what they do."

"So you're good enough to stay, but not good enough to not be sold to all and sundry." Barricade says flatly.

_It's disgusting, that "retirement" is being allowed to "just" do the gang members in their cushy home, instead of paying for said home by selling themselves on the streets._

_You forgot the one's who are "exceptionally good at what they do." You could earn that spot. Be the best little whore you can be, and work in-house._

_He's not staying here that long. He's going to really start looking for another job again and he's going to find one before his time as Hide's personal frag buddy is over. Then he's going to get both him and Jazz out of here._

_You mean his personal slut. You did have fun with Dreadbot though. That mech is very good at what he does. You should be more like him. You're never getting out of here anyway, nobody wants to hire you._

_Shut up._

"They don' kick someone out from that position easily, so there hasn't been an openin' for me ta try for. Either tha mechs alread on in-house duty has ta give up a spot vonluntarily for some reason, or they do somethin' bad n' get demoted. Tha only thing I can do, is wait for an openin' n' make sure I earn that spot."

He needs to think about these things, because as gross as he finds this hierarchy, at least it tells him that Ironhide isn't fickle with taking away privileges someone has earned, and that's another point that speaks in favor of Ironhide having earned Jazz's respect and liking.

"I'm so terribly sorry about what happened to you before, I'm completely speechless."

"I try not ta think about it anymore, but I'm glad that it's over. I had bad dreams for months after. Still happens sometimes, but not as much. I'm relieved Ironhide looked past it n' kept me anyway, especially after I woke up in his berth, not knowin' where I was, n' completely freakin' out. It cannot've been a sexy sight, but he jus' pulled me closer n' put his massive fraggin' gun on top of me ta make me feel safe. He didn' judge me too fragged in tha helm ta keep, so I got ta stay, n' I'm thankful for that."

_It's awful to live in a world where PTSD could've gotten Jazz kicked out to fend for himself on the streets, risking to fall into the cruel servos of some other nasty pimp, but at least that didn't happen._

"So what did ya think about Crosshairs' skills with his glossa?" Jazz leers conspiratorially, clearly done with the heavy topics.

"What?!" Barricade says, flushing.

"He's so good, isn' he? I swear, I had never squirted before he ate me out n' finished me off with his digits."

"I-I... he's good!" Barricade squeaks, but the vivid image in his helm of Crosshairs licking Jazz to overload sends a heat to his groin.

"Ya looked so hot yesterday when he ate ya, so surprised n' still enjoyin' it. I'm gettin' hot just thinkin' 'bout it. Ya know what, I haven't gotten a blowjob for some time. If yas suck my spike, I'll return tha favor with tha oral of your choice."

He doesn't really like to suck cock, but this is _Jazz_, and it's not like he can complain, considering how many times Jazz has felt forced to do it for him. If there's someone he should put the effort in to learn it for, it's Jazz.

"Deal."


	126. Chapter 126

It is kind of different to do it for Jazz. Barricade still doesn't like to have a spike in his intake, but it's not that bad when it's Jazz he's giving pleasure. It doesn't feel like a big sacrifice to make for his... his lover.

Because that's what he considered them before, and no matter what they do with others at times, the intimacy when he's together with Jazz is different, so that's the best description of what they are now.

And Jazz's reactions when he rolls his glossa around Jazz's spike really are kind of delightful. Small gasps of unadulterated pleasure, the tensing of his legs when Barricade finds a particularly sensitive spot. He chanses a glance up at Jazz, but the Solstice's helm is thrown back — as much as is possible, considering he's still stretched out on the berth — and Barricade can't see his facial expression.

Slim claws are toying with his audial fin, little caresses and tweaks that Jazz probably isn't even aware of doing, but there's nothing dominating with the grip. It just adds to the impression that Jazz is rather incoherent.

_And he's the one doing that to Jazz._

"Oh, Primus, _yes!_ Yes, yes, yes, keep doing that, oh, fuckin' hell..." Jazz rambles before trailing off into a wordless mewl of pleasure.

Barricade twirls his glossa across that spot again, making Jazz's hips twitch, but then he backs of and starts to slowly bob his helm up and down, keeping his glossa still to only stimulate Jazz with his lip-plates for a while.

"Please, Cade! No edging! Please!" Jazz cries out, squirming under him.

He's not really aware of what edging is, but a quick search on the data net supplies him with some info, and while it's an interesting prospect, he listens to Jazz's wishes.

_And the hinges to his jaw is getting sore._

With quick flicks of his glossa, mapping out all the sensitive spots he has found on Jazz's spike, he quickly works Jazz closer to release.

"I'm gonna cum." Jazz grinds out.

_He could pull back, could avoid swallowing the transfluid if he wants to._

But he doesn't.


	127. Chapter 127

"Dang, ya're good at that." Jazz mumbels with a dopey grin.

He pulls Barricade in for a kiss, completely unbothered by the taste of transfluid lingering on Barricade's glossa. Somehow that makes it feel less repulsive, because if Jazz isn't too disgusted to kiss him after that, it can't be that bad, can it?

_It's just Jazz's spike anyway. Imagine all the spikes he had sucked before he kissed you back before you went to jail... All the transfluid that had dribbled over his tongue before you smooched him..._

Barricade ignores the toxic voice, because it doesn't matter.

"Ya want me ta suck your spike now?"

It would be so easy to ask for that, but he has had that done so many times before, and while he always enjoyed it immensely back then, it was with the connotations of the power he felt with a mech on their knees in front of him, staring up at him with bright optics, and now that he has been tried to be the one with an unwanted spike on his intake, taking his pleasure from it feels tainted and dirty. _And he is rather curious about some other stuff, and trying things with Jazz feels better than being thrown into it with whomever is close by._

"I'd like it if you want to lick my valve."

Jazz grins slowly. "I can dig that."

He crawls down Barricade's frame, kissing his way down the Saleen's chest-plates, down his ventral plating. Barricade opens his panel before Jazz even gets down there, and Jazz plants a kiss right on his node.

"Ya know, your components are pretty n' all, but maybe we could find some fancy LEDs or somethin'? Not that I don' like this, but this is standard issue adult Praxian Enforcer. Ya should have somethin' that says ya're not cop-mech number one hundred and fifty three, ya're _Barricade._"

He has never considered mods before, for obvious reasons, not being a valve mech. But Jazz knowing exactly how standard he is brings a different unwelcome thought: Jazz has seen a lot of cop arrays, and Barricade looks just like them.

"Is that the number of Enforcers you have serviced in some way?" He asks, because the thought grows roots.

"Ya really were that number in tha line, if we're countin' all departments I'd had customers from, n' we set the number our first time. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that ya're special ta me." Jazz says, dragging his glossa over Barricade's node.

His hips twitch with the pleasure, and while it is slightly offputting to think about Jazz's job, he really has to be special to Jazz in some way, or he probably wouldn't be here right now, because Jazz would be with one of them. He still wants Jazz to remember who it is he's with when they're... _making love._

_He will think about getting a mod. As soon as he gets a job and can pay for it._

Then he can't focus on anything but the things Jazz does to his array, because that clever glossa wriggles inside and manages to dance over all his sensitive spots one by one, setting his sensory network alight with pleasure.


	128. Chapter 128

"Since last night was party night, we have tha night off. It's always like that: party means everyone workin' in-house, n' tha next night is work free, 'cause everyone is usually hung over." Jazz says sitting on the edge of the berth, smoking a cygar.

"I wonder if that includes me." Barricade says, almost not daring to hope for it. _And where is he going to sleep if it does?_

"Probably does, but check in with Hide just ta be sure. We don' work tha streets tonight, n' we have no obligations to tha brothers n' don' hafta try ta entice them. We're free ta decline propositions, but I usually don't. Givin' that little bit extra is probably smart when aiming for gettin' ta work in-house someday, n' most of 'em are fun in tha sack anyway."

_Ugh, but of course. A day off means no obligations, but putting out as a freebie is the corporate culture. Wonderful. And he's on trial, so he probably should drag his sorry aft back to Hide's room and show how willing he is. To keep Hide from handing him out to others before he can find a different job and get the hell out of here._

"Wanna come with me ta tha employee rec room? We usually watch movies together these nights until we hit a berth, it's quite fun, n' ya'll get ta hang out a little with tha others."

He has kept to himself most of his time here, but it probably can't hurt to get to know the others a little. _Before he winds up in the same berth as them in one way or the other, because it's obvious that even if he's still exclusively Ironhide's, the Topkick has now qualms about inviting more mechs into his berth while Barricade is there._

::Jazz asked if I want to hang out with the others in the rec room tonight. Is it OK if I do that for a while before I come to berth?:: He comms Ironhide, because it seems like the best way to deal with this.

::Sure. You don't have to come back here if you find a different berth to spend the night in either. But you're welcome if you want to.::

::Okay.::

"I'd like to join you. I checked with Hide, it's okay."

Barricade reaches for Jazz's cygar and plucks it from his mouth to bring it to his own, taking a deep drag. He's a little bit nervous, but he certainly isn't up for a drink at the moment, so the weed comes in handy.

"Hide said I could spend the night in some other berth if I wanted. Does that include your berth, or does it have to be a brother's?"

"You should've asked him. I dunno, but I'm guessing Hide isn't gonna go around ta ask all tha brothers if they fucked ya tonight, so it should be fine ta stay in mine, or one of tha other entertainers' if that's what ya want."


	129. Chapter 129

The weed making him pleasantly buzzed and relaxed, Barricade follows Jazz to the rec room. It's not the one by the entrance, but a smaller room further down the hallway of the wing Jazz stays in. They step through the doors, and Barricade flushes when the optics of the other mechs find him, because he knows that he has been isolating himself, and they probably know it too. He still follows Jazz to one of the big chairs, clearly made for bigger mechs than them, because they can both sit rather comfortably in it. He curls up between Jazz and the armrest, making himself small, and he knows it's a defense mechanism, but he's not going to fight it right now.

"Drift and Cross are making popped energon kernels." Dreadbot drawls, his helm lazily lolling to the side to look at them from where he's reclining on a couch.

"Oh, Primus, I hope Drift's better at it than Crosshairs..." Jazz groans.

Dreadbot laughs. "That's why I didn't allow Cross to do it by himself..."

Barricade looks back and forth between the mechs, not understanding what they're talking about. Jazz catches his befuddled look.

"Crosshairs is completely shit at cookin'. Could set fire ta tha energon in an automatic heater. He grew up with servants n' stuff, went ta private school, n' just never learned even tha basics. So he was gonna do some pops, but he didn' know how to, n' thought 'grease as grease', ya know? So he used tha closest grease he had; tha flavored lube in his subspace pocket. 'n it was this sweet, sticky flavor that just did not go well with pops..." Jazz makes a face as he remembers the incident.

_How does someone fall so completely, from being rich enough to probably never have to work at all, to selling his frame to have someplace to stay, and doing it for long enough to earn a spot on in-house duty?_

"It was completely inedible. I doubt even the glitchmice would try it." Dreadbot fills in.

"He agreed himself, though. Didn' even try ta force it down n' keep a straight face ta make himself seem better, n' take some embarrassment away."

"Yeah, he knows that it isn't his forte, and he's honest about it."

It's kind of surreal with all these personal details of strengths and weaknesses, because he has been so preoccupied with focusing on everyone being a pleasurebot, he failed to think about all the other stuff that people are. He doesn't even know if Jazz knows his way around a kitchen, or what his preferences for fuel and such are. And these mechs seem to know each other far beyond what working together invites to, much more than he ever knew about his co-workers. 

_On the other servo, they do share berth buddies, and probably sleep with each other regularly as a part of their job, and for fun, and they do live in the same house..._


	130. Chapter 130

"Ta-da! These pops are the best I've _ever_ made, if I may say so myself." Crosshairs says as he swoops in with a huge bowl of popped kernels, Drift following in his wake.

"Which doesn't tell us anything, really." Dreadbot quips.

"Glitch." Crosshairs chuckles, flipping the other mech off. "Anyway, wha' are we watchin'?" He plunks down next to Dreadbot while Drift stretches out on a huge pillow on the floor.

"Pretty mech. It's about a prostitute making a deal with some rich dude to be his professional consort for a while and falls in love with him." Dreadbot says. 

Barricade tries to not make a face — because, the irony of it — but he's not successful. He remembers seeing a movie like that way back, thinking it was kind of cute, but with his new place in life, he sees it in an entirely different light. Jazz grins at him though, clearly just amused by it all.

"For frags sake, can' we watch somethin' with explosions?" Crosshairs says.

"Knockie's pick." Dreadbot says, shrugging.

"You would've just picked a porno anyway." Knock Out snarks at Crosshairs.

"Oi, there's nothin' wrong with porn! 'sides, I 'adn't chosen porn tonight, 'cause I want te see the new movie with Brush Wheelies. It has explosions."

"And Brush dropping a _lot_ of plating." Drift snorts.

"Well, 'e's _ho'_, so I'm no' gonna complain 'bout tha'! I really want explosions, though. The nakedness's jus' a bonus." Crosshairs smirks.

"Shut up. We're watching this movie, it was my turn to pick, and this is what we're seeing." Knock Out interrupts them.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll watch it." Dreadbot says, holding up his servos in a placating gesture. "By the way, have any of you seen Blackout without the coverings on and around his rotor hub? Holy smokes, is that hot!"

"Are ye actively tryin' to get me wet? I seriously wish 'e could fuck me while I jus' stare at 'im when 'e's unplated like tha'."

_There's something intriguing about the discussion, makes him curious to see more unplated mechs. Some of the pleasurebots have removed a few plates here and there, but he has gotten used to the way they do that to look more streamlined, hardly notices it anymore. But other plates, on other mechs... He's going to search the web later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel like this kind of chapters are too boring and should be left our, but at the same time, I think they do a lot to build the setting, and the characters, so I'm ambivalent. What do you say, is it redundant, or does a bit of gossip and banter have a place in the story?


	131. Chapter 131

The movie is absolutely cringe worthy. It's like dropping all the sweetener into a cup of energon, and then drink it anyway, with the underlying sourness of the knowledge of that power imbalance. And then at the end, when the rich mech declares his love for the pleasurebot and swoops him off the streets, Barricade can't help but think that this was kind of what he wanted to do with Jazz way back when, and it leaves a vaguely bitter aftertaste that he can't say if it is because of the cliché, or of how oblivious he was back then.

"We should go shopping someday. I really want to see if I can find stickers like what the pleasurebot had." Drift says. 

"An' I need more toys." Crosshairs fills in.

Jazz snorts in amusement. "Like ya don' have enough? I can't imagine Hide payin' for more toys for ya."

"Can there ever be enough toys?" Crosshairs asks.

Dreadbot laughs. "Crosshairs will get Hide to hand over the credit sticks in no time." He makes a lewd motion with his servo against his intake, glossa sticking out between the denta at the opposing side of his face with every motion.

"I want to check the new line of wax that's about to be released." Knock Out muses.

"An' ye probably need paint remover for yer asshole." Crosshairs snickers.

Barricade chokes on the swig of energon he was just about to swallow, coughing and sputtering. _What the actual frag?!_

"Shut up! That only happened once, and you know it!" Knock Out yells, throwing a pillow at the Corvette as the room erupts in laughter.

"Yeah, but it was funny as hell!" Dreadbot cackles.

Knock Out covers his flushed face-plates with his servos.

"What happened?" Barricade whispers to Jazz, but of course everyone hears it.

"K.O. was kind of new back then, and he was so sweet on Breakdown. Only both of them were a bit shy about their fucking, so they usually did it in private." Dreadbot starts to tell the story.

Bumblebee fills in with some beeps and churrs, but Barricade still hasn't learned how to de-code the sounds.

"Yeh, they were both pretty drunk." Crosshairs takes over. "Anyway, they were too lazy te go upstairs, so they wound up in the supply room. An' it's no' well lit. Breakdown obviously thought 'e grabbed the lube, but what 'e really got was my touch up paint. So 'e banged Knock Out really good against a shelf, an' when they came out of there, K.O's asshole was a lovely bright green. It was like an I-take-it-up-the-ass-too beacon against 'is regular paint job."

"Ugh, but I did set the new record for earnings that week. Every customer I had wanted to upgrade the deal as soon as I bent over. None of you bitches have ever made that much in a week." Knock Out smirks.

"Touché. With a very pretty green..." Crosshairs quips.

Barricade can't do anything but stare at them with wide optics, because he's completely stunned by how at ease they seem with this, how they can joke about it, and most of all how Knock Out managed to turn his embarrassment into a victory.


	132. Chapter 132

"I'm horny, I'll go see if Blackout wants ta stick 'is spike in me." Crosshairs states, getting up from his spot. "Ye wanna join me?" He asks Dreadbot.

"Sure. Maybe we can get him to drop those covers?" 

"Sunny commed me a little while ago, I'll go to his room." Drift says.

"Sleep tight, wake up loose." Dreadbot snickers.

Barricade glances at Jazz, not getting the joke.

"Sunstreaker prefers his lovers passed out. That way, they don' move 'round 'n fuck up his paint job. So spendin' a night with him is basically pluggin' a recharge stick in, or gettin' really drunk, n' then wakin' up in tha mornin', guessin' what happened."

_It's weird, but it's also oddly tempting. What a relief to not having to pretend to be willing, to not even remember what has happened. Or maybe it isn't? It wasn't fun to not know when he woke up this morning._

"I'll be with Breakdown." Knock Out says, throwing the remote on the table.

_So this is why Jazz wouldn't say no if someone asked him to give it up on his night off. If he's going to have a chance to start working in-house, Jazz better keep everyone happy with him, has to earn it. And if he himself is going to stay in Ironhide's berth a while longer, he probably should make sure Hide is pleased with him. Ugh..._

"I probably should check if Ironhide has company..." He mumbles to Jazz, not wanting to turn down more time with Jazz, but feeling like he has no choice.

"I understand. I'll comm Sideswipe, see if he wanna hook up."

Barricade's spark feels a bit cold when Jazz reveals his plan, even though he logically knows that it isn't some sort of revenge for Barricade propositioning Hide, he knows that Jazz isn't out to hurt him with the words. It's just so very awful that they can't even spend this nigh off together, but have to go spend their night in someone else's berth.

"I see. Hope you have fun?"

_What the fuck is he supposed to say? He doesn't like that Jazz will sleep with someone else, but it isn't like he hopes that Jazz is going to be miserable all night either._

"I will, one way or tha other, it'll be a good night. I'm not workin', ya know." Jazz smiles, and it looks genuine. "N' I really hope ya have fun too."

"Yeah... See you tomorrow?"

"Ya bet!"

Barricade rises from his seat, but as he turns to look at Jazz, the Solstice tugs him in for a kiss, their glossas rolling around each other in a slow, hot kiss that has Barricade's valve going slick and his spike requesting permission to pressurize. Bumblebee makes a dragged out beep, rising and falling in pitch to mimic a catcall. Then Jazz breaks the kiss, patting Barricade's aft.

"Go get 'em, ya sexy fragger!"


	133. Chapter 133

::Are you busy, or do you want some company?:: He comms Ironhide as he walks up the stairs.

::Give me five minutes. Go get energon and some coolant.::

He turns and heads back down the stairs to get those things, and Barricade snags himself a cyg when he passes one of the bowls still standing on a table. The room looks better in shape, someone has cleaned up all the empty cubes and bottles and have wiped the tables from spilled beverages while he has been with Jazz. 

_Who did that? He has a hard time picturing any of the brothers doing something like that, especially after a night of partying, but it seems unlikely that they have a cleaning crew who can just walk in as they please. Maybe some of the pleasurebots? Should he have helped out? But then Jazz would've told him, right? He should ask what's customary, if there's another party before he has managed to get out of here._

He lights the cyg and takes a deep vent through it, continuing down the hallway to the refueling room, mourning that he will probably lose the prescription for weed when he moves out, one of the few things he will truly miss. It'll be worth it, though. The question is what kind of job he could get. He needs to look at the works nobody wants first, then he can hopefully get something else. It's always easier to find a job when you already have one, and you have references.

Musing about what he could do — it's not like he can afford a reformat, so something alt mode specific like street sweeping, or wastedisposal are out of the question, he's too small for hauling goods, mining, or other heavy tasks, and it's very unlikely that anyone would trust him with express deliveries of goods, or working in a driving school.

Grabbing a few bottles of mid grade — because he isn't hung over anymore, but high grade still feels like too much, even though he doesn't feel like staying sober — one of the big jugs of coolant, and a bottle of a sweet, thick flavoring, because sometimes the weed gives him such a sweet tooth.

Checking his chronometer, Barricade walks back up the stairs, feeling like he has given Ironhide enough time to finish whatever he was doing. He's almost within range for the door to open for him if it's unlocked when it slides open, the doorframe filled with one very obnoxious Flier.

"Well, hello, pipsqueak. You're a sight for my sore optic." Nitro Zeus steps to the side to let him in, the alledgedly sore optic raking over Barricade's frame.

"Hi, Nitro." He says as dismissively as he can, trying to look more confident than he feels when he puts the bottles on the table, doing his best to move in a way that'll show off his frame to Ironhide, who's already sitting on the berth.

"So, Hide... Want to share?" Nitro purrs.


	134. Chapter 134

Barricade fumbles with the small bottle of flavoring, almost dropping it in his alarm. He glances at Ironhide, forcing a smile as he tries to smooth it over.

"I don't know..." Ironhide drawls, studying Barricade intently.

_Please, Primus not yet, just give him a little more time before this gross, horny bastard is given the go-ahead. Just enough time for him to find a different job and be out of here._

"Come on, Hide. You know I won't steal all the attention from you. The more, the merrier..."

Ironhide snorts, optics flicking to Nitro. "You always try to steal all the attention." After long seconds of staring at the Jet — something passing between them, or maybe they're speaking over comms — he turns back to Barricade. "What do you say, Barricade?"

Barricade swallows nervously, processor working overtime.

_What the pit is he going to say? He's supposed to be inviting, and he was ready to do his best to seem interested, but having two mechs at once was not in his plan for the night, and he's not at all ready for this, but if he says no, Ironhide is going to see that as something very negative, and he really should try to keep Hide happy..._

"I-I... uhm. I don't know, I've never...."

"Aaw, come on..." Nitro whines.

"You didn't have any problems with playing with both Dreadbot and Crosshairs yesterday..." Hide trails off.

"I... no, but this... uhm..."

_It's one thing to have two mechs pleasuring him with their digits and glossas, quite another to have two big brutes fragging him at once. He's barely getting used to sucking spike, to be fucked by both of them_ _ is such a giant leap into a depravity he isn't keen on trying._

_Hypocrite! You certainly wouldn't mind fucking Jazz while he was licking someone...._

That mental image is very tantalizing, with Jazz's face buried between Dreadbot's thighs, his own spike slipping into Jazz's soaking wet pussy, drooling for him.

_Totally different scenario._

_Like I said: Hypocrite. Spread your legs, open your mouth and make them both very pleased with you. Can't hurt to be on their good sides..._

A servo waves slowly in front of his face, catching his optics.

"Uhm, Prez? I think we broke him..." Nitro Zeus rumbles.

"I-I don't think I'm ready for that." Barricade says weakly, legs feeling like rubber.

"You're still on trial, and this is your night off anyway, so that's fine." Ironhide says, but there's an obvious implication there, that when the trial is over, he better be ready to do it.

"You don't know what you're missing out on, but it's your loss..." Nitro says, shrugging. 

_Yeah, sure. It's the big bastard's loss, because he is going to be out of here before the Jet gets his filthy servos on him._

Nitro leaves them, and Ironhide reaches for the coolant, drinking straight from the jug. He pats the berth next to him, and Barricade crawls onto it, stretching out to give Ironhide a good view of his backside, because he knows that Hide likes his aft, and his shoulder-wings.

"So, what do you feel like doing tonight?" Ironhide asks.

"I want to take a ride?"


	135. Chapter 135

"Grab that bottle of flavoring for me." Ironhide says, moving back to lean against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him.

Barricade crawls down the berth slowly, trying his best to give Ironhide a good opticful of his aft. He grabs the bottle between his denta and crawls back to sit next to Ironhide, leaning on his servos to stick his front out. Ironhide smirks, one servo coming up to toy with Barricade's crash bar and lights. The touches feel good, toying with the components with just the right amount of pressure. Ironhide grabs the bottle with his other servo.

"You've got a craving for something sweet?"

Barricade nods, glancing longingly at the bottle. Ironhide opens it and puts it to his own lip-plates, tipping his helm back as if to drink from the bottle. Barricade nearly whines. He really wanted that syrup. Then Ironhide turns to him, sticking his glossa out to reveal that both his lips and tongue are coated in it.

"Help yourself."

It's intimate, and yet it's not, because Barricade is having a craving and would lick that syrup from almost anything. _Almost_. 

Without hesitation, he leans in to lick the big mech's lip-plates, slowly sliding his glossa across the smooth plates to get every minuscule trace of the sweet liquid. Then he goes for Hide's glossa, licking and sucking, plunging his glossa into Hide's intake to get every single drop of that sweetness. Ironhide responds, curling his glossa to turn it all into a lazy kiss, and something in Barricade responds, his spike requesting permission to pressurize, and his valve feeling hot and slick. He moves closer without even noticing, servos coming up to brace on broad shoulders, and suddenly he's lost in the kiss instead of just trying to get sweets, pressing in closer. It's Ironhide who finally breaks the kiss.

"You're good at that." He murmurs, pressing his lips to Barricades' one more time. "Want some more sweets?"

Barricade nods, feeling oddly breathless. He hasn't kissed anyone but Jazz in such a long time, and Hide caught him off guard by being surprisingly good at it.

He watches as Hide raises the bottle again, following the way the syrup moves inside it when he tips it to pour a thin rivulet of the contents down his chest and ventral plating.

_Seriously? He's supposed to lick that off of Ironhide's plating?_

Barricade glances up at Ironhide who raises an optical ridge in wordless challenge.

_Well, he does want that sweet syrup, and it's just his plating..._


	136. Chapter 136

Barricade leans in to lick at Ironhide's chest-plates, the sweet syrup sticking to his glossa and getting smeared against the smooth plating in a sticky way.

_At least Hide is clean, so it isn't very different from licking the syrup from a plate. Warmer, and with faint traces of wax, but not unpleasant._

In a fit of defiantness, Barricade glances up to meet Ironhide's optics, lapping at the mechs plating with broad strokes of his glossa.

_He isn't going to back out from this little challenge._

It doesn't have the effect he expected, because Ironhide's optics brighten, and a quiet groan leaves the mech's vocalizer as his field gets tinted with an arousal that wasn't there before.

It's mortifying, because this is exactly what the bastard wants; Barricade, eagerly pleasuring him, but at the same time, he feels strangely victorious. _He's_ the one who makes Ironhide react like that with the things he does, and not just because he's a convenient frag who's handily available.

Then he reaches Ironhide's pelvic plating, and that powerfulness is gone again, because licking syrup from someone's admittedly well shaped ventral plating is vastly different from continuing further.

Barricade still leans in to lick at the plate, because he's not going to back down just to have Ironhide pour syrup there and make it another challenge. The panel is growing warmer by the second, and Barricade expects Ironhide's spike to pressurize at any second.

It doesn't. Oh, the panel pops, but the secondary spike cover is still closed, and Barricade stares dumbly for a second or two before he realizes that he's going to have to work for that too.

_Ugh, fucking bastard, showing off his power by forcing Barricade to arouse him._

_Maybe he's just tired? He did have a berthful of whores all night, and a good part of the day._

_Shut up. He's just being an aft. I know this power play, I've done it myself._

_I rest my case. Final plea: you're a bastard too._

Since he doesn't want to think more about that, Barricade focuses on the still closed cover, alternately lapping at it, and teasing it with the tip of his glossa.

"Fuck, you're good at that too!" Ironhide groans.

Then the cover finally opens, and Barricade forces himself to hold still and let the spike pressurize straight into his mouth.


	137. Chapter 137

He sucks Ironhide's spike, bobbing his helm up and down to take it as deep as he can.

_Which isn't all that deep, considering he saw Crosshairs take all of it. He's not going to ask for tips on how to do that, though. He's not going to stay here long enough to need to know that._

"Lick it from the base to the tip."

Barricade forces himself to not make a face — even if he can't stop himself from flushing — and obediently does as he's told, because not doing it will lead him nowhere. He flattens his glossa and slowly licks the length, as if he was still lapping up that sweet flavoring.

_Maybe you should ask if you can pour flavoring on it?_

_Wouldn't that be an insult?_

_You're right. His pre-transfluid should be the only spice needed._

"Look at me."

He's halfway up the shaft when the request interrupts his thoughts, and Barricade feels his spark sink, because it feels so humiliating to be so acutely aware of someone looking while he's doing his best to give oral pleasure. He tilts his helm back as he continues, finally meeting Ironhide's optics when he reaches the head of the spike, slick pre-transfluid coating it, clinging to his glossa.

"Oh, that's so hot. You're getting so good at this." Ironhide groans, keeping optic contact while Barricade keeps sliding his glossa around the thick spike.

He can feel how badly he's flushing, but thankfully, Ironhide doesn't comment on it. No, he just looks at Barricade, clearly enraptured with the sight. Barricade forces himself to not look away, but then suddenly, he remembers something.

_He said that he wanted to ride Ironhide, and it isn't like he's really prepped. Hopefully he'll be forgiven for this._

_No, you're already beyond saving, you slut._

_I didn't mean forgiven in the biblical way, I meant being selfish enough to play with myself while doing this._

_I know you liked it when the pleasurebots did it while sucking your spike..._

Barricade reaches between his legs, digits finding his node, and he slowly starts to circle it, dipping his digit into his valve to get some slickness. The arousal that started to grow when they kissed isn't fully gone, merely forgotten when he had to start this, and it doesn't take many slick slides over his sensitive nub before he groans with pleasure.

Ironhide is clearly pleased with his idea, watching him hungrily as he laps at Ironhide's spike with less finesse, grinding against his servo.

"Need to get something bigger in that litte pussy of yours?"

"Yes, please." Barricade says sounding much more breathless and genuine than he expected to pull off.

Truth be told, partially he really is eager because then he don't have to lick at a cock anymore, but there's also a shameful, greedy, selfish little part of him that wants the easy gratification that is an overload.

"Well, you made sure that I'm ready for you, so just hop on."


	138. Chapter 138

Crawling up Ironhide's frame to straddle him feels strangely easy. Barricade doesn't hesitate when he lines up the thick spike and sinks down on it, taking it all in one slick slide, and he shudders with pleasure. Ironhide smirks when he watches Barricade's intake fall open, looking very pleased, but Barricade decides to not think more about that right now.

_He's just going to take his pleasure from the smug aft, use him to get off._

He steadies himself with one servo on Ironhide's shoulder, the other on his side, and starts to grind against him, rocking back and forth to get that friction against his node, the way the fat cock inside him stirs his juices, hitting every single one of his inside nodes. _It feels fucking good._

An indecent whimper leaves his vocalizer, an honest wanton moan, and he rubs harder.

"That's right, little mech, take what you need." Ironhide murmurs, servos grasping Barricade's hips to help with the rhythm.

_He's so fucking close, and he just wants to overload, but then he'd come before Ironhide and that's probably not acceptable..._

"I'm gonna overload soon if we don't slow down." He confesses.

"Go ahead if you want to, I don't have any reservations about you coming more than once, but I'm not that close yet, so don't stop just because you're finished. That's kind of rude."

_It is rude, of course it is, but he'll be so sensitive after his overload_.

Barricade starts to lift off and sink down instead, lessening the stimulation on his node to slow his charge down a bit. Ironhide's servos cup his aft instead, stroking the plating with every movement, 

"Nitro is right, you really do have such a sweet little aft."

He grabs Barricade's hips again, getting the Saleen back into the previous rythm of grinding.

"You know what, I want you to overload like this. I know how I want to finish."

If he wasn't getting so close, if his mind wasn't addled with pleasure, he might've reacted to the comment more, might've thought more carefully about the lack of information on exactly what Ironhide wants to do to finish. But Barricade is too far gone for that, mindlessly rutting against Ironhide to reach his peak.

It doesn't take long, then he hunches forward, digits diggin into Ironhide's plating as he rides out his overload with a loud wail.

"Wow, you can really be a loud one. I like it."


	139. Chapter 139

"Off you go!" Ironhide says cheerily, easily pushing Barricade off his lap to land ungracefully next to him on the berth. The big mech rumbles a laugh, but it isn't a nasty one.

Barricade has found the mech to be an enigma in berth, because just as much as he can be demanding, he sometimes shows a sense of humor and an unexpected playfulness, and he already surprised Barricade with the kiss, because that showed yet another unexpected side.

Barricade squeals like a turbo piglet when a huge servo slaps his aft, easily spanning half of the plating.

"Hey, what the _frag_?!" He squeals indignantly when another slap lands to even the burn over his entire aft.

Ironhide laughs again. "There's that feisty spark! Like a turbo puppy, yapping and growling. You're so cute when you let this attitude out for a bit, instead of just sulking."

"You are _not_ going to spank me like I'm some unruly youngling...!" Barricade growls.

"Nah, not tonight. Good to know how to get a rise out of you, though. But I know you're still tired from your overload, so I'll make it easy for you; you don't need to do anything but mewl into the pillow and enjoy it."

_Into the pillow?_

Then Ironhide wrangles his arms behind his back and grabs both his wrist-struts in one servo, effectively immobilizing him. His hips are hiked up, and Barricade has enough time to be embarrassed about how his soaked valve is on display, but then that thick spike slides into him and he does mewl into the pillow, because _fucking hell,__ that thing hits _all_ the spots in the best way!_

Ironhide sets a quick pace, every thrust jostling Barricade, and there's some filthy, perverted little part of him that is delighted with this handling of him, the superior strength of the mech fucking him making him feel small in a thrilling way.

_So you're that kind of slut? Getting off on the big, bad thug using you, fucking you without caring what you think about it? Showing his true colors, being the brute who just takes what he wants._

_Shut up. He's not like that. He doesn't use physical force to get what he wants. I don't need to be scared of him, he's just playing._

_Yeah, sure. You've known him for a few weeks, you probably know best. But it's ok, you know. Nothing wrong with being a submissive slut. Just embrace who you are._

_Fuck you._

_Actually, you're the one being fucked._

_We both are, so shut up. _

Ironhide's pace is brutal, but there's no nasty commentary, no disgusting attempts to degrade Barricade. Just low grunts and powerful rutting, and while he's definitely in control, it doesn't really feel like Ironhide is really doing it for the forceful part. More like he wanted Barricade's aft perfectly presented to watch while giving it hard and deep, and this happened to be the best position.

With a muffled wail — face still pressed into the pillow — Barricade overloads again. Ironhide growls and slams in deep, and Barricade feels the transfluid being pressed out around that thick cock, running down his legs. Then Ironhide pulls out and tips over to stretch out next to Barricade, and the Mustang lets his knees slide out from under him, stretching out on his front.

"Seriously sweet aft." Ironhide mutters, curling his frame to reach to press his lip-plates against Barricade's aft, before stretching out again, an arm across Barricade's back.

In a dopey fit of postcoital playfulness, Barricade wiggles his aft, and smirks into the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, and here y'all thought it was time for Barricade to take it in the port for the first time. :D


	140. Chapter 140

He has some downtime in the early evening a few days later, when Jazz has left for work, and before Ironhide gets back from whatever he has been doing, so he takes the chance to do a search for mechs dropping some of their plating.

Sure, he has seen a bit of it; many pleasurebots remove a few plates here and there to look more sleek, but it's mostly not so show off what's underneath, more like removing sharp angles and points to make them look more touchable. 

_Except Dreadbot, who's one of the most pointy, sharp looking mechs he has ever seen, complete with really nasty denta when he doesn't fold them down. His appearance is completely at odds with what pleasurebots normally go for. The brothers don't seem to mind, though. _

_Well, his talent probably makes up for it..._

What Barricade is looking for now, though, is much more extreme, considered taboo, and way too kinky for most mechs. At least to admit out loud that they look at it.

The first one he finds is a Racer, sleek to begin with, but with his leg stripped to the core components, he almost looks spindly.

Barricade flicks through the pages, finding that most of the time, only a specific part of the frame is unplated, and he understands why; removing it all is a lot of work, and mechs probably tend to have specific predilections for what they want to see anyway. There's something fascinating about it all though; the way cylinders and hoses are laid bare to see in an organized way, completely unlike when a mech has lost plating from an injury, and everything is a mess. He has seen his fair share of that in his earlier line of work, and never thought he would find looking at deeper components titillating, no matter that they're unblemished.

He modifies the search parameters, looking for war frames, and larger classes of mechs. Racers, Seekers, and various types of small Fliers seem to be the most common frame types in the business, but it was not what they were talking about the other day.

Then he finally finds a truck former, the plating on the mech's shoulders and arms missing. It's a marked difference from the Racers, because the struts and cylinders, all the components, are so much bigger than on the smaller frames, and the protoform sort of bulges with optic catching curves. Not just from the size difference, but from the need for raw power. It's tantalizing in a way that's new, and Barricade's array feels a bit warmer. He bookmarks the image before he scrolls down the page, looking for more of the same mech, or other frame types. 

He finds a Flier, not a Seeker, but heavier, like Nitro Zeus, and it's quite interesting to see the difference from the truck former, because he's built for speed, and is definitely more streamlined than the heavy hauler, still powerful, but not as bulky. Another image is bookmarked, and his array gets slightly warmer.

Then Barricade finally finds a Helicopter. The mech isn't nearly the size of Blackout, more likely a recon type, and his rotors doesn't fold down, but the hub... It's easy to see where the power outtake happens, even if the components are deceptively slender. Barricade stares at it for a long time, and his valve is getting slick before he bookmarks it and scrolls further down the pages.

_He should see if there are any pictures featuring Pick up trucks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this, I'm thinking that Seekers are built like TFP Starscream. Nitro may be a Flier too, but he's definitely bulkier.


	141. Chapter 141

Morning energon with the pleasurebots is an interesting experience, and definitely something he has missed out on while spending his mornings sleeping in, and the rest of the day keeping away from everyone.

This morning, Barricade woke up earlier than he usually does, and he headed down to the refueling room, finding a few of the others gathered around the kitchen island.

"I swear, Blackout's spike's so massive, my ovaries go' knocked outta place." Crosshairs cackles.

Knock Out rolls his optics. "You're not an organic. You don't _have_ ovaries."

"No, bu' _if _I 'ad them, they'd be in my neck right now. They'd be bulging out 'ere." Crosshairs indicates the sides of his neck, drawing little bumps in the air with his digits.

"This discussion is so fucking stupid." Knock Out groans.

"'e really is massive, though, ye 'ave te agree on tha'."

"Yeah, but it's because he is big all over. He's not disproportionately well endowed."

"True, an' probably good fer us small mechs. Now, Sideswipe on the other servo..."

"Yeah, _now_ we're talking! Small mech, big dick. And that vibration mod..."

"Oh, Primus, I love tha' one!"

Barricade grabs a cube and fills it with his favorite energon, leaning against the counter next to Jazz, who's just listening to the others, smirking in amusement.

"Mornin' babe." Jazz murmurs.

"Morning." Barricade leans in to give Jazz a peck on his lip-plates.

"Aaw, the two of ye are so sweet tegether." Crosshairs coos. "Go ahead an' do it properly. We won' mind." He smirks, resting his chin against his palm, elbow braced on the counter.

"Ya jus' want a show, n' then ya'll get all hot n' bothered." Jazz snorts.

"Nothin' wrong with seein' some lovin' in the mornin', an' I already masturbated earlier, so I'm cool." 

Jazz giggles and shakes his helm, but Barricade can't resist the urge to humor Crosshairs — or the urge to kiss Jazz — and pulls Jazz in for a much more heated kiss. Jazz answers it almost instantly, their glossas rolling around each other at a languorous pace.

"Aaw, ye really are denta rottingly sweet. But now I need te go play with myself."

Jazz momentarily breaks the kiss. "I told ya!" He yells after Crosshairs, then he catches Barricade's intake again.


	142. Chapter 142

Barricade is stretched out on his front, legs spread, and Ironhide is kneeling between his legs, thick digit swiping through Barricade's slick folds. 

_It doesn't really feel embarrassing anymore, doesn't make him feel exposed and vulnerable like it used to. He really has been here too long, he needs to find a job and get out._

_Then maybe you should actually try to look for a job. A quick search on the web every other day while loitering in Jazz's berth can't exactly be seen as an effort._

_Shut up. He has done more than that to come up with a plan. He has just needed a day off now and then._

"So, I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you never have taken it in the ass."

A digit slides under the still closed cover to rub the opening, and Barricade squeaks and scrambles forward, coming to a stop sitting defensively curled by the headboard.

Ironhide smirks amusedly, servo still hovering in the air. "I'll take that as a 'no'. Do you have a drain hose, or do you change your oil the old-fashioned way?"

"Please, don't. I-I... Just, _no_." Barricade stutters hoarsely.

"Come on, Barricade, I'll take it slow, give you time to adjust. You know I don't want to hurt you. It's going to happen sooner or later, and you're going to thank me when the trial period is over that you tried it with me. So what does your configuration look like?"

There are implications there that definitely are an incentive to kick it into gear with finding a new job, but that's nowhere near helpful in the present situation.

"You're too big, it'll never fit! I-I, I can't... _Please_, I need some time to train myself and get used to it before I can take your cock." Barricade goes for stalling. 

_If he gets a few days, he can find a way out of here before Ironhide claims... That._

"Configuration?" Ironhide says impatiently.

"Drain hose." Barricade mumbles.

"Good. Then you don't need to clean up before."

_Eew._

"Please, Hide!" Barricade whines, trying to look small and cute, because he's certainly not below a bit of manipulation, and he has seen the other pleasurebots go for the sweet and innocent approach when wanting something. "I mean, look at it! Your cock is so massive. I can never take that big gun back there for my first time."

Ironhide looks at him for long seconds, them a grin slowly stretches his lip-plates.

"Well played, little mech. I'll give you two days to get ready for taking my spike." 

_He has two days to find a job._

"But your training starts today."

_What?!_


	143. Chapter 143

Barricade is still sitting by the headboard when Crosshairs and Drift walks in. Ironhide moves to sit in his chair, and Drift stops behind him, massaging his shoulders before sliding his servos down Ironhide's front, nipping and kissing the big mech's neck-cables, glossa working sensitive wiring as he goes. Crosshairs drops the box he is carrying on the floor before crawling onto the berth to join Barricade.

"I want to watch your first lesson." Ironhide says.

_What?!_

_Crosshairs is probably smaller. Maybe he's going to be the first one to fuck you in the ass?_

Crosshairs servo slides up Barricade's thigh, the Pleasurebot leaning in to nip at Barricade's jaw, touches that are pleasurable, but Barricade can't lose himself to that. Not in this situation.

"I really don't want to do this." Barricade whispers.

"I can' do anythin' 'bout tha', but I promise I'll take it slow, an' I'll make it as good as I possibly can fer ye. Jus' relax an' try te enjoy it, it's the best we can do." Crosshairs murmurs.

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one receiving tonight."

"Actually, I like takin' it in the port. I'm hopin' Hide will finish with fuckin' me, 'cause 'e isn' really tha' inta fuckin' somebot in the ass, so 'e rarely gives it to me like tha'."

_Well, if you're aiming for working in-house, you sure have to up your game with this competition._

_Fuck you._

_I am you, so technically, I will be. In the ass._

"Come on, le's get ye comfortable." Crosshairs urges him to stretch out on the berth again. "I think layin' on yer front will feel the least awkward."

_Yeah, so he doesn't have to see the audience._

_Just pretend it's a full frame search._

_Shut up._

"'ere we go." Crosshairs says, pushing a pillow under Barricade's hips to lift his aft a bit, making his back arch slightly. "Open up." He strokes the plate still covering Barricade's port.

He does, somehow expecting slick digits to invade him immediately, but instead, Crosshairs starts to finger his valve. Barricade chances a glance over his shoulder, and then he flushes, because Ironhide's optics are riveted to him, even as Drift is kneeling between the thug's pedes, obviously sucking his spike. Barricade turns back to press his face into the mattress.

Something cold and slippery slides into his port, and he stiffens.

"A lube-stick. It'll melt by yer frame heat. It'll make ye really slippery, an' we want lots of lube there." Crosshairs murmurs in his audial.

_Ugh._

_Pay attention. You'll want to know this in a couple of days._

_Ugh._


	144. Chapter 144

Crosshairs fingers his valve, and Barricade's charge is rising rather quick in spite of the situation. Then a digit slips inside his ass, and he stiffens. Crosshairs curls the digit, hitting a sensitive spot in there, and Barricade groans in surprise, because that felt kind of nice. His spike requests permission to pressurize, but he denies it.

Another digit is added, sliding in easily, even if the stretch is slightly uncomfortable. Crosshairs keeps working his anterior node, and Barricade's charge keeps rising. Then the digits slip out as Crosshairs reaches for something in the box.

Something thicker, blunter, presses against his port, and then it pops inside when his calipers give in and allows it entrance. Barricade squirms, the stretch not painful, but not comfortable either.

"Doin' good. Try ta relax." Crosshairs murmurs.

Barricade presses his face-plates into the bedding, but nods. The toy is slowly pushed deeper, sliding slickly over that spot inside him, and he gasps quietly when Crosshairs starts to work his node again, hips jerking. The toy in his aft is pulled out a bit, then pushed in again, slowly sliding deeper into him. Barricade shudders in a confusing mix of pleasure and discomfort, because he really doesn't want it in there, and it's uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's rubbing that spot, and the digits on his node are glorious...

Crosshairs servo touches his aft, the toy all the way inside. He stops for a moment, just flicking Barricade's node, then he starts to pull it out again.

"All the way out. I want to see it going in again." Ironhide says.

Barricade whines quietly into the mattress, embarrassed by the reminder of the audience. The toy slips out of him, and Crosshairs pumps his digits into him a couple of times, the digits going in much easier now. _It's so humiliating._

The toy is pushed inside again, popping in easier this time, and Crosshairs pushes it inside quicker, fucking him with it a handful of thrusts before pulling it out again. He repeats the motion of letting it slip inside just past the rim, and then pulling it out again. _For Ironhide's benefit._

Then Crosshairs drops the toy on the berth and grabs another toy, pushing it against Barricade's slick opening. 


	145. Chapter 145

It's thicker than the first toy, and Barricade whines in discomfort.

"Ye're doin' great." Crosshairs comforts him. "Jus' a little bit more, then the first bead is in."

The push resumes, and then it's inside, his calipers clenching around the narrower part. Crosshairs dips his digits into Barricade's valve to gather some of his lubricant, then he strokes his node again.

Barricade's hips jerk of their own accord, because the stimulation to his node is glorious, and in spite of everything, he's running a rather high charge. The press against his opening is renewed, but this time, it goes in a bit quicker, and the momentarily uncomfortable stretch is eased with the next narrow part of the toy.

For each bead pushed inside, he feels more and more full, but every time the toy goes deeper, it rubs against that spot, and it feels good.

_Why does he like that? He doesn't _want_ to like that, but it is kind of pleasurable._

The digit on his node is working quicker now, and Barricade is moving against it, moving against the toy in his aft as Crosshairs changes from pushing it in one segment at a time to a slow, continuous slide, slowly going deeper until he reverses the action, pulling it out.

Barricade overloads hard, wailing into the mattress, squirming as the toy keeps sliding out of him, and then he goes limp. He's still aware of being spread out in front of Ironhide and Crosshairs — and Drift, if he doesn't still have his mouth full of Ironhide's spike — but it's easier to pretend he isn't when his face-plates are buried in the bedding.

"Can' ye fuck me now, Daddy? _Please._" Crosshairs purrs.

That gets Barricade moving. He rolls over on his side, looking at the Corvette who's sitting next to him on the berth, and how he manages to look so innocent — in spite of fingering himself — Barricade cannot understand.

"Haven' I been good, _Daddy_?" He whines.

Ironhide cocks an optical ridge, considering.

Crosshairs twists around to stand on his knees and elbows. His legs, and the covers where he has been sitting, is stained with lubricant. Barricade can't help but stare at the blatant display. Crosshairs's valve-lips are swollen, and his biolights flicker invitingly, lubricant drooling out of his valve. Barricade's spike requests permission to pressurize, and, _oh_, how badly he wants to fuck Crosshairs right then, just sink his cock into that soaking wet pussy. But alas, it isn't for him to take.

"_Please!_ Jus' fuck me! My ass feels so empty!" Crosshairs whines again.

Ironhide smirks.

"Can you check if he's ready for me, Barricade? Make sure his ass is slick enough?"

Barricade works his intake. It's not something he has done before.

"Please, come on!" Crosshairs whines. "Jus' check with yer digits so 'e can take me already. I'm slick, an' I really need some cock."


	146. Chapter 146

In Barricade's opinion, Crosshairs's valve looks so inviting, there's no need to stick anything anywhere else. But apparently, Crosshairs himself is of a different opinion, and so is Hide.

_Well, better Crosshairs than him..._

He pushes a digit inside.

_It's hot around his finger, slick with lubricant Crosshairs has apparently already administered himself, and oh, so fucking tight._

"More, _please,_ somethin' bigger!" Crosshairs mewls, pushing back against his servo.

Barricade adds another digit, pumping them slowly.

"What do you say, is he slick enough?" Ironhide asks.

Barricade flushes, because he was so focused on the way Crosshairs's calipers are squeezing his digits, as if trying to suck his fingers deeper, he forgot that the Topkick is watching. 

"Yeah. Tight, though..." 

_He can't take Hide like this, can he?_

Ironhide throws his helm back and barks a laugh.

"I fucking hope so!"

Crosshairs makes this wordless, needy little whimper, and it goes straight to Barricade's array, his spike wanting to pressurize again, his valve going slicker.

"Please, Hide, do me like ye fucked me the first time..." Crosshairs pleads, and he sounds so desperate.

Ironhide snorts, but he gets up from the chair. 

"So that's what you want? You slutty little bitch..." 

He crawls onto the berth to kneel behind Crosshairs, and Barricade backs away to leave them room, optics still riveted to them.


	147. Chapter 147

Ironhide lines up his spike, and Crosshairs tries to rock back to get it inside. It earns him a shove that topples him over to land sprawled on his front.

"That's not how the first time I did this to you went, you needy little slut. I remember you squirming, and whining into the pillow about getting sore." Ironhide growls.

He grabs Crosshairs hips and hikes them up, then he pulls Crosshairs backwards at the same time as he makes a harsh jab with his hips, hilting himself in one thrust. Crosshairs wails into the bedding, and Barricade can't tell if it's from pain or pleasure. Ironhide starts thrusting — quick, powerful thrusts — and he bends over Crosshairs to grab the back of his helm, pushing his face into the mattress to muffle the whimpers.

"Shut it, bitch, or the whole cellblock is going to hear you. We don't want the guards coming in, do we?"

It's disconcerting to watch, but what's most unsettling is the way Barricade's array heats up by this display, and it's disturbing that he can't pinpoint exactly what it is about it that's arousing him so damned much. Crosshairs field is still swamped with arousal, but the entire scene feels dubious at best, and he's ashamed to be turned on by that after... everything.

Then Crosshairs suddenly overloads, entire frame shuddering, and it pulls Ironhide with him. The big mech groans and slams in deep, holding himself hilted. Crosshairs goes limp under him, and as soon as Ironhide lets go of his hips, he slides forward to stretch out on the berth. Ironhide smirks, then he turns to Barricade.

"Still think he's tight?"

"Uhm...no?" 

"You should check."

Hesitantly, he leans forward.

_Really doesn't look tight; Crosshairs's port is drooling transfluid, the rim slack._

"Check with your digits."

It feels wrong to do it on Ironhide's prompt, and not Crosshairs's, but there's something steely under the velvet of Hide's voice, so he better do it and hope that Crosshairs isn't offended by it.

Barricade's digits slide in easily this time, with no real resistance.

"I bet you can get three digits in there this time."

_He can, easily._ Barricade pumps his digits, not certain what Ironhide wants with this. Crosshairs doesn't complain, just lies there and allows it to happen.

_This'll be you in two days, all loose and slick with transfluid._

It makes Barricade aware of how his port feels right then; slick, and a strange, sore-but-not-really-sore sensation. _Chafed, maybe?_ He stifles the urge to touch it, to check if he's loose too.

_Not now, not with all these mechs here, watching._


	148. Chapter 148

Barricade set his alarm to wake up early for once, and he is the first one to get up. Ironhide wakes up when Barricade gets out of bed, but he just looks at the Interceptor and pulls Crosshairs and Drift closer, the smaller mechs not waking up, but snuggling closer to the Topkick, helms resting on his shoulders.

"Those toys will remain here to give you something to practice with. If you need help, just ask Crosshairs." Ironhide says quietly.

Barricade stifles the urge to make a face and nods before slinking into the washracks.

He prods his port with one digit, and Barricade is relieved to find it tighter than yesterday. He waited until everyone was in recharge to test it, and he did not like what he found.

_Considering what you'll take back there tomorrow night, being a bit loose is probably a mercy._

_Shut up._

_You didn't mind the demonstrations yesterday, got all hot by watching, and Crosshairs and Drift sure seemed to enjoy being fucked like that. Maybe you should go get a toy and learn how to take it, so you can enjoy it too?_

_Nope, I'm going to get our of here before that._

_Sure..._

Barricade finishes the shower, as if fleeing the washracks is the same thing as leaving his argument behind, and he heads for the refueling room for a quick cube.

It's still too early for anyone to be up, so he's alone while he waits for the energon heater to get finished, and it's tempting to sit down and drink his energon in the quiet, to savor the peaceful moment — like he used to do in what seems like another lifetime — but he doesn't have time for that today. He grabs the disposable cube and heads out. 

It's still cold, the first rays of sun not yet having chased the dampness of the night away, but it serves to help him wake up, and somehow it all makes Barricade very hopeful.

Today, he's going to find a real job, one that doesn't involve training his aft for fucking.


	149. Chapter 149

Barricade doesn't return until evening. He has spent the day looking for a job, visiting every single possible employer in the area, asking for the shittiest, unqualified jobs he can come up with, but even those jobs are surprisingly hard to find. Probably because in this neighborhood — unlike where he lived when he was an Enforcer, a better part of the city — there's a never-ending line of mechs without any real qualifications, but who'd rather do those jobs than the alternative.

_The alternative he will be forced to do if he doesn't find a job tomorrow._

_It's the same thing you've been doing for a while now, the only difference is which hole he's going to stick it in. You shouldn't knock stuff you haven't tried at least three times, you know. _

_He's not going to take it up the ass, and he's not going to give it out to more people. That's the line he's drawing._

_Whatever you say._

He walks into the rec room, heading for the bar to have a cube of high grade to steel himself for tonight's training session.

"You!" Sideswipe snarls, crowding him.

Barricade's spark flies up into his intake and he backs away, back hitting the bar.

"Go upstairs right now, Hide's waiting for you. You broke the rules, and he's expecting a very good explanation. You better be ready to make him really happy."

"I-I, what?! I didn't... I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Go. Upstairs. _Now._ Either you're lying, or you're stupid, and I'll leave it to Hide to decide which."

Barricade nods jerkily, and then he hurries up the stairs, eager to get away from the angry thug. 

_Not that a pissed off Ironhide seems like a much better option, but maybe he will see reason? He didn't mean to break the rules, isn't even certain what rule he broke._

The door opens for him, and he steps through, but he doesn't have time to react before Ironhide is on him. A massive servo wraps around his throat, and his back is smashed against the now closed door.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?!"


	150. Chapter 150

"Let go of me! _Please_!" Barricade cries out, terrified.

He instinctively claws at Ironhide's lower arm to try to free himself. Even if the firm grip doesn't restrict his energon flow or dent anything, it's still terrifying. In a moment of clarity, he tries a technique he learned in self defense class, but it proves ineffectual. Ironhide grins nastily, looking like a sharkticon smelling energon.

"Cute, but I have mods to counteract the common tricks tiny little mechs use to put bigger ones on the floor. Fight like a mech, or just give in."

Barricade slowly allows his frame to go limp, vents still hitching with his distress.

"Where have you been?"

"I went looking for a job, I left a message for you when I left this morning." 

_Is that not allowed? He is free to leave when he wants, right?_

"Didn't I tell you to inform me of roughly where you're going? And when you will be back? A vague message doesn't cut it, and..."

"Yes, but I..."

"Don't interrupt me, and no excuses. I don't care what you come up with. How fucking hard can it be to check in by comm now and then, and inform someone about where you're going next?"

He drops Barricade, and the Saleen crumples to the floor, not prepared for suddenly taking his own weight. Boxed in between Ironhide and the door, curled up on the floor, he feels so very small, and his spark spins wildly in it's chamber.

"Makes me wonder if you didn't want me to know where you were going for some reason..."

"It's not like that!"

"_Don't_ fucking _interrupt_ me!" Ironhide growls. "You know, if you're trying to rat about something going on here to get back in favor with law enforcement, you will be sorely disappointed. They won't find anything, any investigation will be shut down, and you will be seen as a liar. And I will know what you have done."

"I would never... I just went looking for a job, and I thought saying as much would be enough. It was a mistake, I'm so sorry." Barricade grovels, vents hitching. 

_Primus knows what Hide will do to him if he doesn't believe the explanation._

"A job isn't a geographical location. I want to know what area you're in at all times."

"Why didn't you just comm me and ask where I was then? I didn't mean to keep away from you, I thought I'd done enough, and then I was distracted by everything else." 

_And even if his old life was a long time ago, he isn't used to constantly check in with dispatch in his spare time._

"You didn't answer. I had Jazz try to get ahold of you too, but you didn't answer him either. He was rather upset about it."

_Frag! He set his comms to silence incoming calls when he spoke to the manager at the first place he went to, then he forgot to open them again._

Barricade checks his inbox, and sure enough, he has 27 missed calls from Ironhide, and 34 from Jazz.

"I'm very sorry, I just forgot..." Barricade whispers weakly.

"Yeah, yeah. Go shower, and comm Jazz to apologize. He was a complete mess of nerves over it."


	151. Chapter 151

Barricade hurries into the washracks, relieved to get some distance to Ironhide, hoping that the Topkick will be calmer when he gets out of there.

::Hey, it's me...:: He comms Jazz.

::Barricade! Are ya ok?! I was so worried! Where are ya?! Ya didn't say anythin', n' I couldn' get ahold of ya, n'...::

::Slow down. I'm back at the house, I'm in the shower right now. Hide ripped me a new one for going awol, though.::

::I fuckin' hope he did! What if somethin' had happened? We wouldn't know where ta start lookin' for ya!::

Jazz sounds so upset, and maybe it's for a valid reason, but Barricade feels like Jazz is overreacting. It's not that late, and it isn't like he has been spending the day in the shadiest alleys he could find.

::It's fine, I'm fine! Primus, I'm a grown mech, I can trundle around the neighborhood in the middle of the day without a standby SWAT team...:: He rolls his optics, starting to scrub his frame.

::Rules are rules, n' they're there for a reason, not just 'cause tha brothers feel like it. Did ya cross Wing nut Drive?"

::Yeah, I went a couple of blocks further.::

::That's not Autobot territory! See, that's why ya should check in. Unfriendly mechs who find out about ya bein' associated with tha Bots could make sure ya have a really lousy day. Or worse.::

Upset has turned to anger, Jazz seemingly gearing up for stripping his plating again and while he understands better why now, it doesn't really feel like he deserves it. He has had a shitty day; not finding a job, Ironhide getting mad at him, and now Jazz is lining up for giving him another figurative slap in the face.

::I won't do it again. It was a mistake. I really am sorry that I scared you.:: He says to appease Jazz and hopefully steer the conversation to something else. 

::No, ya won't. If ya do, ya could get kicked out. Rules are rules.::

_Ugh. He doesn't want to get kicked out, but he better find a job tomorrow, before...yeah._

_Aft up, bitch._

_Shut up._

The thought brings back the apprehension for the night, and Barricade wonders if it'll be just him and Hide tonight, or if others will join them again. Suddenly, he's antsy and can't enjoy the shower anymore.

::Anyway, I guess I should go make it up to Hide...::

::Yeah, n' my customer is hopefully done soon. He's takin' forever, though, I should charge him extra. I swear some of these ol' coots should get themselves a router ta help keep their spikes pressurized.::

_His customer?!_

::You're on the comms while fucking a customer?!::

::Well, yeah! I wanned ta talk to ya, n' it isn't like I need ta focus. He jus' wanned ta bend me over a dumpster, so I jus' need ta stand here n' take it. Make a couple of noises now n' then.:: Jazz laughs. ::Sometimes we comm each other and tell jokes ta seeif we can make tha others lose focus.::

_What the fuck..._

_Maybe they did that when you fucked hookers? Imagine being so bad in the sack, someone make comm calls while waiting for you to finish. At least Hide is good enough to keep you properly occupied. If he isn't still pissed off at you._

::Yay, he finally overloaded!::

:: ... Right. So, I'll see you tomorrow?::

::I'll hold ya to it!::


	152. Chapter 152

Ironhide is stretched out on the berth when Barricade returns from the shower. The big mech is watching TV, chin resting on his lower arms.

"You look tense." Barricade says quietly, so nervous that the tension is lingering anger, he fails to try to make it sound suggestive. "Let me rub you shoulders?"

Ironhide grunts an affirmative, and Barricade clambers onto the berth, trying to find a good way to reach the bunched cables on the Topkick's massive back.

"Is it ok if I straddle you? I can't reach..."

"Go ahead." 

Hide sounds grumpy, and for the first time since he got here, Barricade wishes he'd tease and leer, and say crude stuff the way he usually does. This truly bad mood is new, and he doesn't like it, because he doesn't know what it'll mean for him. Barricade digs his digits into the thick cables of Ironhide's upper back, trying to coax the kinks out of them without really knowing what he's doing. He works in silence for a while, tense on top of the gang boss, and the longer he sits there, the more nervous he gets when Ironhide doesn't say anything.

"I really didn't mean to disappear on you like that. I forgot I'd set my comms to unavailable. I'm sorry." Barricade breaks the silence.

"Yeah. You're new here, I get that it's a lot to keep track of." Ironhide grunts, sounding sarcastic.

Barricade wants to argue, because he wasn't exactly given a schedule for how often to check in and such, so he doesn't think it's fair to blame him, but fairness has little to do with it when Ironhide holds the power and has decided that Barricade fucked up. Jazz is right, he could be kicked out if he doesn't follow the rules, and he doesn't want that to happen.

_Even if he wants to be out of the house before tomorrow night._

_Yeah, you know, you're not going to make it. Might as well start working on loosening up..._

_Shut up!_

"I will do better. I'll tell you where I'm going as soon as I leave a place." He says to appease Ironhide, even if he thinks it's a violation of his freedom, even more so than being on parole is.

"I'm expecting that. It's better that you check in one time too many than not. When you're uncertain of the rules, just ask. If you feel like you're bothering me or the other brothers by comming us too often, just ask the other whores, they can always fill you in."

_The other whores. Ironhide bunches him with them._

_You already know that's what you are._

"Does everyone always run everything by you? I mean, it has to be exhausting to keep track of everyone." Barricade muses out loud, abscentmindedly tweaking a bracket on Ironhide's shoulder that feels stuck.

The big mech grunts a chuckle. "Frag, that one was bad. You're good at this. Actually, everyone checks in with Nitro Zeus or Blackout. Nitro is our Sergeant at arms, and Blackout is our Enforcer. They report to me if need be, and everyone knows who to ask if they're looking for someone. It's just noobs who answer directly to me on these matters."

This is news to Barricade, but it's not really a mercy. He certainly doesn't want to talk to Nitro Zeus more than necessary, and to have the sleazy Jet know where he is constantly doesn't seem wise. Barricade doesn't really know Blackout, more than that he's huge and rather scary.

_And according to the other pleasurebots, he's hot when he takes the plating around his hub off._

_You stared at the pictures of unplated mechs of similar type for a pretty long time. Maybe you should call him. See if you can get under his plating..._

Barricade flushes when thinking about the pictures he found on the data net, and works Ironhide's back with more fervor to get something else to focus on. Then Hide shifts, as if he's had enough.

"But if you've been that busy all day, I guess you haven't had time to try to prepare yourself for tomorrow. I think it's time for some exercise..." He says, the leer back in his voice.

His flips around, and his servo shoots out, trapping Barricade's wrist-strut in a vicelike grip, and then he twists them around. Barricade has time to squeak, then he's pinned under the heavy mech, spark doing backflips.


	153. Chapter 153

"So what would you prefer; me playing with you, or you doing it yourself?"

It's one hell of a question, because Barricade would certainly prefer to not have anyone doing anything with his ass, but if this keeps Ironhide happy without moving up the date of his next loss of a virginity to right this instant, it's half a win.

"What would you prefer?" Barricade purrs, plastering on a coy smile, because he really can't decide which would be the least humiliating of the two options.

Ironhide seems to weigh his options, and suddenly Barricade feels quite certain that putting on a show would be the worse option.

"Curl up on your side." Ironhide says, moving off Barricade.

The Interceptor does as he's told, opening that panel while Ironhide rummages through the box Crosshairs left on the floor.

_Will Crosshairs miss those toys? What would he need all of them for, considering all the cock he can get here...?_

_Maybe he's not such a prude and likes to make himself feel good? With and without an audience._

"You toy with your node, or stick your digits in your pussy, whatever you prefer. I'll take care of the rest."

Obediently, Barricade presses one servo between his legs and starts to slowly circle his node. He forces himself to not tense when a thick digit, slick with lubricant, rubs his opening, but when it slips inside, he squirms.

"I-I had a full frame search in prison. I really hated that..." He blurts, not knowing if it is to explain his squirming, or a plea to not be expected to do this.

"I would've been more surprised if you had _enjoyed_ it. I can't think of anyone who does." Ironhide says, and suddenly Barricade realizes that he may not be the only one in this house who has gone through that. 

_Hide has said things before that points to more than him being on parole, and the mechs here seems far more likely to be the type that would be suspected of smuggling than he is. Maybe Nitro was searched when he was in jail? Maybe even Hide has been through it at some point? But wouldn't that make him understand why Barricade doesn't want to do this?_

_This is interfacing, completely different than a cavity search, and Hide wants to frag your aft. Just get used to being seen as three fraggable holes._

"You're opening up pretty nicely. Still, my two fingers are nowhere near as thick as my spike." 

_Does the bastard get turned on by embarrassing him, by saying crude things? _

_Probably._

_And when the hell did he slip a second digit inside?_

Then Barricade wants to hide his helm under a pillow, because if he didn't notice _that_, then he really must be getting pretty loose.

The digits slip out, and then something bigger presses against his port, easily sliding in the first bit, but the the tapered shape meets resistance. Ironhide wiggles it, twists it, and pushes it in a little bit, pumping it with small movements.

"Keep working yourself, don't focus on this."

He really tries to, and it does surprise him how wet he is getting, as if his frame is approving more than his processor. Even if the stretch is a bit uncomfortable, it's also stimulating in a way that has his charge rising.

_You'll be a really good little whore in no time._

_Shut up._


	154. Chapter 154

It slides into place and settles, filling him up and Barricade grabs the sheet, venting deeply to get used to it.

"This is a good start. You still have a way to go to take me, though..." Ironhide notes.

He does something with the toy, and suddenly it starts to vibrate. Barricade mewls in surprise at the strange input, the tickling deep in his chassis. His spike requests permission to pressurize, but he denies it.

"Ride me." Ironhide says, flopping over on his back.

_With the fucking thing still inside?!_

_Well, duh..._

He doesn't dawdle for too long, because Ironhide has stated what he wants, and so Barricade has to seem willing and eager. He straddles the mech, rubbing his soaked folds along the thick shaft a few times before lining it up and sliding down it. Ironhide groans.

"I can feel those vibrations too, frag that feels good!"

It does feel good to have his valve filled, Barricade is charged, and his inside nodes are very sensitive. He starts to grind against Ironhide's pelvic plating to get some friction on his anterior node.

It's almost too much, he's already racing towards the edge, and Hide certainly won't want to stop just because Barricade overloads in a matter of seconds. He starts to lift off and sink down instead to pace himself, Ironhide's optics locked on where his thick spike is sliding in and out of the Saleen's valve, big servos gripping his thighs. Barricade's digits dig into the seams of Ironhide's ventral plating, and he is hard pressed to not increase the pace and chase his overload.

"Get on all fours. I want to see." Ironhide rumbles, nudging Barricade's hip.

He's quick to obey this time, wanting to get that overload that's pending.

_Starting to lose some of your inhibitions, eh? Not getting embarrassed by this._

Barricade ignores the thought, and it's easy to do when Ironhide grabs the toy and wiggles it, making the Saleen squirm from the confusing mix of a weird sensation that's not that uncomfortable, and pleasure. Then the vibrations change pattern, and the Topkick's spike slides into him again, and he rocks back with a moan. Ironhide snickers.

"So needy. I like it."

He starts to pound into Barricade, setting a quick pace, and Barricade grabs on to the sheets, rocking back to meet each thrust. Hide's servo comes around to rub his node, and it's a matter of seconds before Barricade overloads with a loud wail. He pants, arms trembling with the need to go limp and just tip forward, but Ironhide is not done yet, so he forces himself to remain on servos and knees.

Ironhide pulls out, and Barricade feels the hot spatters of transfluid landing on his back and aft, and he has enough energy to be embarrassed and indignant about it, but he doesn't say anything.

Ironhide flops back on the berth, watching as Barricade reaches back to stop the vibrations of the toy, fumbling around with the controls and accidentally changing the vibration patterns a couple of times before managing turn it off. He grabs the base and pulls, forced to wiggle it a bit to get it out.

"You can clean that tomorrow." Ironhide says, handing him a rag to wipe away the cum from his plating.

Barricade does that, and discards the toy and the towel on the floor, then he stretches out on his front next to the Topkick. Digits slip into his aft easily now, he's still slick with lubricant. Barricade flushes, because it's embarrassing to be loosened up like this.

"Do you really have to...?"

"No, but I _want_ to. You take three digits easily now." Ironhide says, amusement coloring his field.

_Ugh._


	155. Chapter 155

Barricade never thought that this would be the thing he'd do first thing in the morning, but fate really is dealing him a lot of those kinds of cards these days.

He's curled up on Ironhide's berth, assfucking himself with a toy, and it's cold comfort that the thug left early to go on what he called a repo run, because Barricade still has a fake spike in his ass.

Pushing it in and out pretty slowly, because quicker movements doesn't feel all that good, he's flicking his node to get to the overload so he can quit.

_He needs to get going to go find himself a job. This is just a backup plan if he doesn't._

_You know, you don't_ have_ to overload from this. You could just quit now, since you can take this size. Maybe grab a bigger one and try with that?_

But doing it just to stretch himself would make it feel even more gross, so Barricade is going to overload and pretend that he does it for fun.

_He doesn't need to keep his spike away now, though..._

Barricade allows it to pressurize and grabs it, slowly stroking it. Pre-transfluid is already beading from the head, and he smears it along the shaft, twisting his servo as he strokes himself, his rhythm with the fake spike faltering. The position; curled up on his side is too awkward, and he tries to kneel instead, but it's not much better. He bends forward until his face is pressed against the mattress, aft in the air, and at that moment, Barricade is very thankful for being alone in the room.

He starts to slide the toy into himself again, and this time, he hits that spot Crosshairs found inside him. The Mustang's hips jerk, his spike being pushed into his servo, and he groans.

With the servo around his spike, he sets a quick pace, and he angles the toy to hit that spot with every slide of it, and it doesn't take long before he overloads, transfluid landing in sticky ropes on the sheet. His frame feels limp and relaxed, and he would really enjoy to just lay there for a while, but he doesn't have time for that.

_Throw the sheets in the washer, wash the toys, quick shower, find a job._


	156. Chapter 156

Of course he doesn't find a job. Noon turns to afternoon, and then late afternoon, and with a sinking feeling in his spark, he has to admit defeat and go back to the house, because he has things he has to do to prepare himself for the inevitable. He finds Jazz in the main rec room, lazily lounging on a couch.

"Hi, Cade. W'sup?"

"I really need you to fuck me in the ass right now." Barricade hisses, spark in his throat-tubing.

Of course he doesn't say it quietly enough. Everyone falls silent, turning their helms to them.

"No little mech of ours should have to be left so desperate. I have a nice, big dick for you to sit on if you need it." Nitro Zeus leers.

Barricade glares at the Flier, barely keeping himself from making a disgusted face when Nitro Zeus pressurizes his spike, slowly stroking the thick length of admittedly impressive ridges and biolights.

_Off course he'd have mods to make up for the lack of a fancy paint job, and the way his bulky frame can't measure up to the sleek beauty of a seeker. If you don't have the looks, make sure your dick has them instead, or what?_

_Those ridges probably hit every single spot, though..._

_Shut up._

"I'm fine, thank you." Barricade grinds out.

Nitro shrugs. "Suit yourself, it's your loss." He looks around, still holding his pressurized spike. "Hey, Roddy! Take care of this for me. I mean, now that the beast is good to go, I might as well put it to use."

The mech with the gaudy paint job looks at the Flier. "Sure. Tell Sunny, though. I mean, if it makes me late for work."

"I'll make it quick." Nitro says, pulling Hot Rod into his lap and sinking his spike inside immediately.

"Babe?" Jazz says, catching Barricade's attention. "Wanna take this ta my room?"

"Yeah."

Jazz gets up, and Barricade follows him, glancing at where Nitro is fucking Roddy, the smaller mech steadying himself with servos on the Flier's broad shoulders. Hot Rod looks like he's thinking about something else, as if he couldn't care less about the spiking he's getting, and Barricade gets a niggling feeling in the back of his processor about why Ironhide wants him to show a little enthusiasm, because that looks kind of boring.

_At least Roddy won't be competition when they're looking for in-house entertainment the next time._

_Ugh._


	157. Chapter 157

"Now _that_ is a request I never thought I'd hear from _you_." Jazz drawls when they're in his room, door shut behind them.

"Hide's going to do it tonight. He already took my valve virginity, and the first blowjob I've ever given. I'd rather not give everything to him. And I'm not sure he'll be all that gentle either, and he's kind of massive, so..."

"He won't damage ya, but I'm not gonna say no ta an offer like that!" Jazz says, patting the berth next to him.

Barricade sits down, but he doesn't lay back, nervously toying with a plate on his thigh. He's had toys in his port a few times now, but it feels like a very long step to be the kind of mech who takes spike up his ass too, even if it will happen soon anyway.

"Do you do it? Take it in the port, I mean."

"Yeah. I didn' back when we met, n' I was so scared that ya'd demand that, because I wasn' sellin' it n' I really didn' wanna do it. Then Brawl happened, n' I wasn' allowed ta choose anymore. By tha time I got here, I was so used ta it, I never really thought about not doin' it."

It makes horrible, disgusting sense, but at least it settles some of Barricade's nerves, because at least Jazz won't think less of him for going along with this.

He crawls up to stretch out on his front next to Jazz, burying his face in the pillow when he tilts his hips to grant access, and opens the covers.

Jazz's servo is there immediately, and he can feel the eager anticipation trembling in his lover's field. It doesn't feel good, because it somehow feels like Jazz has just been waiting to get a chance to literally have at his aft. Barricade doesn't like feeling objectified like that — especially not by his lover — even if he can't say if it really is like that, or if his processor is interpreting Jazz's eagerness wrong.

Jazz's thumb, slicked with lubricant slides into his aft, Jazz's other digits sliding through his slit to circle his node, and Barricade forces himself to try to relax.

"Ya've been practicin'." 

"Yeah." Barricade squeaks, embarrassed.

The thumb slides out, and he hears how Jazz pours more lubricant on his servo, then two digits slip into him, pumping in and out slowly. Excitement is trembling in Jazz's field, and he can sense the impatience even before Jazz speaks the next time.

"Ya think ya're ready? Ya're slick n' kind of inviting, n' I don' wanna rub ya raw by fingering ya for too long..."

_He'll never be ready._

"Just do it, I think I can handle it."

_He might as well get it over with._

"My pleasure. Lift your hips, it'll feel better n' help ya take me."


	158. Chapter 158

Jazz nudges his knees farther apart, and the angle forces Barricade to arch his back, hips lifting in what feels like an obscene invitation. 

_Just like they do in the pornos._

Then the head of Jazz's spike pushes against his slick entrance. It stings when he's pried open, the stretch burning, and Barricade grunts in discomfort, because it is bigger than anything he has taken before, and while there was some discomfort whenever he tried a bigger toy, he was at least more prepped when he sized up. This is so much worse.

"Ya're doin' great, hun!" Jazz encourages him in a strained voice. "Ya know, ya can bite tha pillow while ya get used to it. Even mechs who like ta get it hard n' deep often do."

Barricade's answer is a wordless keen, but he doesn't take the advice — because it sounds ridiculous, and why would anyone want to do it like that of their own free will — but when the head of Jazz's spike pops inside, Barricade suddenly finds his intake full of fluffy pillow.

_Fucking pit, Jazz never felt too big, but right now, he feels massive._

_Imagine how Ironhide will feel. _

_Not right now. Please._

_Oh, look, he's getting humbled!_

Jazz slowly rolls his hips, pushing in a little deeper every time, and Barricade is panting into the pillow, whimpering with every push. It's so much, and he can't understand how Jazz manages to pull out or push in at all, because they should be stuck like this, considering how thick that lenght feels inside him.

"Fuck ya feel good like this, so fuckin' tight, n' hot. Yare takin' me so well too." Jazz praises him, a servo sliding along his back-struts in a soothing manner. "Halfway there already!"

_Halfway?! Half-fucking-way?! He's going to die. The notice of his demise in the news site will say "died with a cock in his ass, like a full fledged fucking pleasurebot."_

_Heh._

"I-I... I can't. It's too much, I..." Barricade whines, spitting out the pillow.

"Aw, babe, I know tha first time can be a bit rough. Ya'll learn, though. N' ya won' enjoy doin' this with Hide if ya can't even take me. He's big."

"I know, I just..."

"It'll feel better soon, I'll hold still for a while. I'm sorry for rushin', but ya know, if ya'd been a little earlier, I'd have more time ta rev ya up before. I need ta finish before I hafta go to work."

_Well, fuck his functioning, but it's his own damned fault that this is so uncomfortable. He should've asked Jazz much sooner for help with this._

Jazz starts to toy with Barricade's anterior node, holding still, and after a while of that, the discomfort slowly tapers off to a duller ache, and a fullness Barricade isn't used to yet. His charge is rising from Jazz's ministrations, and his valve is feeling slick.

_It'll have to do, he wants this over with._

"You can move now."

Jazz's only answer is slow rolls of his hips, pushing in a little deeper with each thrust, and this time, it's a bit easier to take it. 

"Ya should keep playin' with your node. It's hard for me ta reach like this."

He does, because while he doesn't want to enjoy anything about this, the only one losing if he doesn't is himself. Jazz increase the pace, long thrusts that make's his pelvic plating clang against Barricade's aft every time he hilts himself, servos digging into Barricade's hips for leverage. _It feels kind of degrading._

Barricade finally manages to coax himself to an overload, but it's shallow and unsatisfying, then Jazz pulls out, spilling his transfluid on Barricade's aft.

"Sorry for makin' a mess, but I don' wanna cream ya up before ya're goin' ta Hide. That was nice, I'd be happy ta do it again if ya wanna. I hafta go now, I'm already late for work. Sorry ta run out on ya, but Sunny has no patience at all."

"It's fine. See you tomorrow." Barricade mumbles.

_Nope, they're not doing this again anytime soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of mad at Jazz for this, he's being kind of an ass.


	159. Chapter 159

He has cleaned up and is curled up by the headboard on Ironhide's berth, smoking a cyg to calm his nerves by the time the thug shows up.

The Topkick smirks at him, then it turns into a predatory grin, full of anticipation. Ironhide slowly crawls up the berth on all fours, stalking him like a cyberwolf would, and Barricade stifles a shudder that's not just fear. Ironhide reaches out to pluck the cyg from Barricade's lip-plates, taking a drag from it without breaking optic contact, then he puts it out and discards it on the nightstand. Barricade bites his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. A big servo slides up his thigh, urging his legs apart, trying to open his defensive pose.

The dam breaks.

Barricade starts to sob, trembling violently, and he buries his face against his knees, wrapping his arms around his helm to hide.

"I-I'm sorry! I can't do it! I tried, I really did, and it hurt so much, so very very much, and I just can't, because you're so big, and I'll fall into stasis, and..."

Ironhide heaves a sigh, sitting back, and Barricade is convinced that the Topkick has had enough, that he's going to kick Barricade out, and he really doesn't want to risk to eventually be forced to this by someone much worse. 

_But it hurt so much, and just thinking about it makes him on edge, and..._

"Hey, take it easy. You were doing well last night. What happened?"

"I wanted to make sure I could take something bigger before trying with you, but J... the mech I went to was in a rush, and it hurt so fucking bad, and he's nowhere near your size..." Barricade wails into his knees.

"Who did it?" Ironhide sounds annoyed.

_Oh shit! He didn't mean to get Jazz in trouble!_

"It doesn't matter. I just... I'm so scared, because I know this will hurt much worse."

"It matters a lot, because if it's a brother, I still have claimed you for myself, and even if you volunteered, they can't damage you. And if it's one of the whores..."

"I'm not damaged, it just hurt." Barricade mumbles.

"Your loss of cooperation is something I consider damage. Loss of cooperation is time, time is money. Now, who owes me money for the time I need to invest in getting you cooperative again?"

"I don't want to get him in trouble, please don't... I'll make it up to you. He needed to go to work, and I was keeping him from going. Please, I'll make it up to you, don't blame him."

"So, it's Jazz."

"Please, he didn't mean to. I'll do whatever you want, just don't be mad at him." Barricade mumbles in a small voice, terrified for what Ironhide could do to Jazz, and how his accidental snitching could impact their relationship.

"You know what I want. We even scheduled this, so keep your end of the bargain, and I don't have to take the payment elsewhere."

Another sob wracks Barricade's frame, but still he nods his agreement. 

_For Jazz. He'll bite the fragging pillow for Jazz._


	160. Chapter 160

"Come here. Straddle me." Ironhide says, leaning his back against the headboard, stretching his legs out.

It's unexpected, because Barricade was so convinced that he'd be aft up, face in the bedding for this, nothing else came to mind. He swings his leg over Ironhide's thighs, servos on the big mech's shoulders, and sits there awkwardly.

"I told you I don't want to hurt you, and it's true, so we'll go slow. I'm not a complete bastard, even if you like to think I am."

Barricade flushes but nods, opening his panels when Ironhide's servo slides between his legs. A thick digit slips into his valve, already slick with lubricant, because he did prep himself after his shower. Ironhide's other servo cups the back of his helm, urging him forward to meet the Topkick in a slow kiss.

It throws Barricade off balance, because this kind of foreplay wasn't what he expected. The digit inside him slips out to do a lap around his node before slipping inside again. Barricade allows himself to get into the kiss, slowly relaxing as Ironhide coaxes him to get charged, his valve getting slicker with his honest arousal. Barricade hardly notices when the digit slides back to be pushed into his port. A strong arm wraps around his back to pull him closer, chest-plates pressed against Ironhide's, and another digit joins the first without any real discomfort. Barricade throws himself into the kiss, speeding it up, making it more feral and hungry with clashing denta, ignoring as another digit slides into him until Ironhide breaks the kiss, nipping at Barricade's jaw before speaking up.

"I want you to ride me. Take what you can, I want us both to have a good time tonight."

Ironhide grabs his rock hard spike to keep it steady, and Barricade feels it rub sticky pre-cum against the plating on his aft. He swallows nervously, but still he lifts himself, shifting to line it up against his port. Barricade slowly starts to sink down, and it's surprisingly easy when it starts to open him up.

_Loose whore, easily taking it up the ass..._

Then he hits resistance, and he stops, grinding his denta.

"You're doing good, just a little bit more, and you'll have the tip inside." Ironhide praises him, stroking soothingly down Barricade's back-strut with his big servo.

Barricade lifts off, giving himself a slight respite, waiting out the reflexive clench of his calipers before pushing down again. The resistance is still there, but he's determined, ignoring the burning stretch, and suddenly he's rewarded with the head of Ironhide's spike popping into him when the thickest part gets past his calipers.

Ironhide grinds his denta, optics momentarily rolling back into his helm. "Fuck, you're so _tight!" _He growls, servos sliding up and down Barricade's sides, and it is unclear if it is a soothing gesture, or a way to distract himself to keep from overloading on the spot.

There's something very satisfying about unraveling the bastard like that, something that feels like he holds some power there, and Barricade clenches around that spike, smirking at Ironhide. It isn't comfortable to clench around the thick cock, but he ignores that, because the satisfaction of Ironhide's reaction outweighs it. Ironhide bares his denta, sucking in a sharp vent when his spike is squeezed even tighter.

"Watch it, little minx..." Ironhide growls, but pleased amusement is coloring his field.


	161. Chapter 161

He has worked himself further down on Ironhide's spike, not all the way, but he's so fragging full when Hide starts to tease his anterior node again.

"You're more than halfway, and I'd say that's enough for today if you want to finish now."

Barricade nods, still continuing to lift off and sink down a little deeper each time. Ironhide's servo on his aft urges him to increase the pace and he does. It's impossible to get any deeper with this pace, it brings a twinging deep in his chassis, but as long as he doesn't try to take more of it, the pace feels ok, especially when Ironhide increases the pressure on the touches to his node.

"Rotate your chassis a bit, it'll make it better for you."

He tries it, and it takes a few slides along the shaft to get it right, but then Ironhide's spike hits that spot inside him, and his hips buck with the intensity of the sensation.

"That's it, keep that up." Ironhide grinds out, obviously close.

Barricade mewls the next time he slides down the thick spike and it hits that spot again, his valve contracting as he already teeters on the edge. Then Ironhide flicks his node one more time, and Barricade overloads with a wail, hips bucking uncontrollably. He sinks down deeper on Ironhide's spike, and the big mech growls when he overloads, arms shaking from the effort of not just pressing Barricade down to push in to the hilt. 

The Saleen lurches forward, leaning his helm against Ironhide's shoulder, frame feeling strutless and spent, and he waits out the rhythmic pulsing as Ironhide spills his transfluid inside him.

"Thank you for being patient." Barricade mumbles.

Ironhide could've just had him, could've told him to get on his knees and servos and fucked him no matter how bad it felt for Barricade, but he didn't. No, he did this surprisingly good for Barricade.

_You come so hard when you've something up your ass, are you starting to like it. _

_Shut up._

"I don't enjoy hurting mechs. Unless they're into that, then I can dig it, but you are not. You'll manage to take it all tomorrow, I'm certain of it, and I'm not in a rush. Now, stretch out on your front."

Barricade climbs off of Ironhide's lap, the spike slipping out followed by a trickle of transfluid, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. Ironhide smirks as if he knows exactly, and it makes Barricade even more embarrassed. He still obeys, stretching out as instructed, feeling the warm fluid still dribbling out. Ironhide reaches out to stroke his port, pushing a couple of digits inside without resistance, scissoring them to let a bigger glob of fluid to run out.

"I like this; seeing you all loose, drooling my cum, feeling how sloppy you are from accommodating my cock."

Barricade buries his face in the mattress, so very embarrassed by it all, but even more embarrassed by how nice those stroking digits feel on the rim of his port, lazily toying with him.

Then Hide has seen enough, and he stretches out next to Barricade, slinging an arm across the Interceptor and pulling him close. The lights go off, and Barricade is stunned by the suddenness of it all.

"What a fucking day, I'm so tired. And _you_ really wore me out. We can clean up tomorrow." Hide mumbles, apparently already halfway into recharge. "You should talk to Crosshairs about some extra protocols for your port. Might come in handy. For your own sake."

_Ugh, more things to turn him into the perfect pleasurebot._

"How would that be for _my_ sake?"

But Ironhide is already in recharge, so no answer is forthcoming. Ignoring his general stickiness, Barricade offlines his optics and nestles into the big frame next to him, because recharging like that is kind of comfortable.


	162. Chapter 162

Barricade comes to a halt just inside the door to the refueling room, and he knows that staring is rude, but he just can't help himself.

Dreadbot is curled up on top of a bar stool, reading a data pad, slowly chewing energon gels he's picking form a plate on the table. That's not what has Barricade staring. 

_He's completely covered in fluffy, light blue fabric._

"What?" Dreadbot asks around a bite, sounding annoyed.

"Sorry. I just... I've never seen something like that?" Barricade indicates Dreadbot with a motion of his servo.

Dreadbot smirks, sliding down from the chair, doing a little twirl to show off the garment that covers him from neck to pede.

"It's comfortable." Dreadbot says, taking his seat again.

"Can I touch it?" Barricade asks, feeling ridiculous as soon as the words are out, but the fluffyness is very compelling.

"Sure."

Barricade stops by Dreadbot, stroking his servo along the mech's back to get a feel of the fabric, and he can see why it is comfortable. The softness of the fabric makes him want to touch it all day. He strokes it once more, then he heads for the energon dispenser.

"Incredibly soft, I can see why you like it."

Dreadbot smirks without looking up from his data pad, nodding. Barricade turns back to the energon heater, pouring a serving into the pot, then he hears the door opening. He glances over his shoulder, and when he spots Knock Out and Crosshairs, he pours more energon into the heater.

"Good morning, my pretties." Knock Out purrs.

Barricade answers over his shoulder, and turns back to face them as soon as the heater is started.

"I, ah, I need to talk to you, Crosshairs. Alone? After we have had energon of course." Barricade says hesitantly, because he isn't exactly looking forward to have a discussion about modifying the protocols for his aft.

"Absolutely!" 

The door flies open again, and Nitro Zeus steps in, optic locking on Dreadbot, brightening considerably. He makes a beeline for the smaller mech, scooping him up from his seat.

"Hey, what the hell..."

"You, me, my room, right now." Nitro rumbles, throwing Dreadbot over his shoulder, pinning his legs between a strong arm and massive chest-plates.

Dreadbot flails uselessly, making a noise of outrage as Nitro Zeus turns and heads for the door.

"Put me _down_ you fragging oaf! I have not agreed to this!" 

"Then you shouldn't dress like that, looking all inviting." Nitro says, his free servo stroking the soft fabric covering Dreadbot's aft.

"It's a free fucking country, I can dress however I damned well please! Now put me down, you uncivilized cave troll." Dreadbot snarls before sinking his denta into Nitro's back.

"Ow! Bitch." Nitro cackles in amusement, stopping the fondling of Dreadbot's aft in favor of spanking him instead.

"I was _refueling_, you underclocked bastard, I have both the right and the need to get some sustenance!"

Nitro stops and walks backwards to the table.

"You're right, you need the energy to keep up with me. Go on, stuff your face."

Dreadbot hangs there for long seconds, scowling at Nitro, then he grabs the gels and stuffs all of them into his intake at once.

"I'll make you pay for this!" He snarls around the mouthful, spanking Nitro's aft with both his servos since he can't really do anything else.

"Technically, I already am paying for this, but I will enjoy seeing you try."

"Fucking _asshole!_" Dreadbot growls.

Nitro Zeus barks a laugh. "Promise?!"

Then the door swings shut behind them, and Barricade fidgets, feeling uneasy about it.

"Shouldn't we help him? I mean..." He trails off, watching as Crosshairs grabs the data pad for himself and Knock Out puts the plate in the washer as if their co-worker wasn't just taken away against his will to be fucked by a bastard.

"Nah, tha's jus' foreplay. 'e never complains when 'e returns." Crosshairs says, shrugging.


	163. Chapter 163

"Ye wanned te speak te me?" Crosshairs says when Knock Out has grabbed his energon and left the refueling room.

"Yeah, I," Barricade starts, flushing horribly. "Hide said I should ask you about... About modified protocols for my, uhm, my port." He mumbles.

"Alright, wha' d'ye need te know?" Crosshairs smirks, clearly amused by Barricade's embarrassment.

"Uhm, everything? I don't know, he just said I should ask you. That it was for my own sake."

"Well, ye were pretty tight, so it might be a good idea. An' it has other advantages. Ye want me te show ye 'ow mine work?"

_Well, that won't be awkward..._

_Maybe he'll let you try him? You'd really like that, wouldn't you. Bend him over something and stick it up his ass, see if it is good to do it like that._

_Well, he wouldn't complain about it if Crosshairs offers..._

"Sure..."

"Let's go te my room. I could do it 'ere, but I'm no' sure I'd get te finish the demonstration if someone walks in..." Crosshairs says suggestively as he heads for the door.

Barricade follows him, certain that Crosshairs is right. They go to the pleasurebot wing, and Crosshairs lets him into his room. It's bigger than Jazz's, and he has more things, but then again, he has been here longer than Jazz, so that probably isn't strange. Barricade's optics lock on the chest of drawers, or rather the impressive collection of toys on top of it. There's so many fake spikes, it's a miracle that they don't fall over the edge. 

_No, there's actually a few on the floor too._

Crosshairs crawls onto the berth, and flops down on his back, spreading his legs, panels open.

"Grab the thick, blue an' red dildo in the top drawer, an' the lube. Then come sit 'ere." He says to Barricade.

It's so weird to dig around in a drawer that should be so private, but Barricade opens the drawer, gawking at the huge toy inside. He takes it hesitantly, because he still isn't really used to these things, even finds them a bit gross. 

_The thing is fucking massive._

He grabs the lube and returns to the berth, kneeling between Crosshairs legs. With a smirk, the Corvette puts a pede on his shoulder.

"I 'ave full control over my calipers. Normally, we don', they operate automatically, but with my extra protocols, I can adjust them as I want. Go ahead an' lube me up. Test 'ow tight I am now, an' I'll show ye the difference."


	164. Chapter 164

Crosshairs is really tight. The lube makes Barricade's digit slide in quite easily anyway, but the rim really squeezes his digit. Crosshairs hums appreciatively when Barricade slowly pumps his digit to smear the lube.

"Tight, yeh?"

"Yes."

"Now, pour some lube on the toy."

"Are you sure? This thing is so thick..." 

_On the other servo, Crosshairs didn't seem to have any problems taking Ironhide's spike. It's smaller than the toy, but definitely big enough._

Crosshairs grins. "'bout the same size as Blackout." He grabs the backs of his thighs, pulling his knees up to his chest to give Barricade full access.

The Saleen smears a good amount of lube on the pole of a toy, then he lines it up, using both servos to be able to hold it.

"Push it in. Don' be afraid te push 'ard."

Barricade goes slowly, not really daring to push hard as Crosshairs told. The Corvette grimaces and rolls his helm from side to side as he's slowly pried open.

"Should I stop?"

"Nah, this is jus' a demonstration. Ye see? I could probably take it, but no' easily. Keep pushing!"

Barricade pushes a little harder, watching Crosshairs writhe.

"Normally, ye'd need te be prepped, an' slowly stretched te be able te take this, but I can control my calipers..."

Suddenly the toy slides inside without resistance, and Barricade almost topples forward. Crosshairs grins up at him.

"See, I jus' opened up to le' i' in. Doesn' 'urt at all."

Barricade stares down at where Crosshairs frame is swallowing the massive toy. It looks obscene, both disturbing and slightly arousing in a confusing way.

"Pull i' ou'."

As soon as the massive toy slides free, Barricade stares at Crosshairs's loose hole, gaping as widely as the toy stretched him.

"If I don' close it manually, or switch te the automatic mode, it stays the size I put it to. Comes in 'andy with the mechs who likes te watch their transfluid drool out of a wrecked ass. Or when Motormaster wants te pour midgrade into me first."

Barricade feels himself make a face.

"It ain't bad. I mean, i' doesn't affect the waste gate, an' I 'ave a drain 'ose, so i' doesn't mix with my oil, or get dirty or cause leakage. An' midgrade is mildly conductive, so i' kind of stimulates the inside nodes in two ways. Almost feels like bein' licked really deep, but so lightly, i's jus' teasin'..." Crosshairs's voice is getting rougher while he talks, and his optics are getting brighter. _He's getting charged. _

"Okay, got it. Seems like a good way to make it not hurt." Barricade says, because sitting there, staring at that gaping port is starting to feel awkward.

"Yeah, an' then when I'm done, I can tighten it again, I don' 'ave te wait fer my frame te do it by itself, because tha' usually takes some time." Crosshairs says, his port closing quickly. "Test it now, all good an' tight again."

Barricade pushes his digit inside again, and just like Crosshairs said, he's as tight as before they started.

_Wouldn't it be pretty nice if you could take a spike that easily? _

_He's not going to stay long enough to get cock in his ass that much. _

_Keep telling yourself that._

_It would feel good to not be all loose until the day after, or even longer, though..._

"Seems like a nifty modification. How do I get it?"


	165. Chapter 165

"Ratch can do i'. Either ye ask Hide fer credits an' work off the debt, or ye offer Ratchet a test drive as thanks."

Barricade nods, not at all keen on paying for mods with his frame, and borrowing from Ironhide seems like a bad idea since he's going to leave soon.

"Ratchet insist on charging fer _frivolous an' unnecessary_ procedures an' mods, says it pays fer his charity work tha's needed. I ain't never 'eard of 'im actually takin' the offer of facin' as payment though, 'e jus' drops the bill instead. Pity, really, I bet 'e's fantastic in the sack, with 'is knowledge of frames."

"Well, I guess it can't hurt to ask if we can make some sort of deal."

"I'll go with ye. His drop-in doesn' open until afternoon though. But ye know, I'm prepped already, an' I'm kinda randy..." Crosshairs rolls over on his front, wiggling his aft. "Wanna fuck me?"

Barricade's spike sends double request for pressurization when Crosshairs port visibly goes a little slacker slacker, already glistening with lubricant. He allows it, pre-transfluid already weeping from the head.

"Sure you're ready?" He asks, slipping two digits inside, because he's not going to make this as bad as the first time was for him, even if it seems like Crosshairs can deal with it way better.

"Yes! So ready" Crosshairs whines. 

He lines up and slides inside, Crosshairs easily taking him, and Barricade can't stop himself before he's hilted.

_So fucking tight and hot, so very good around his spike. He should've tried this a long time ago._

_Oh, look, _now_ it's okay with port stuff!_

"Do you want me to stroke your spike?" Because that seems like a polite thing to do, and he's not going to be the only one having a good time here.

"Nah, I don' care much fer usin' my spike if I'm not already fully stuffed."

Barricade doesn't have the wits to try to figure out how that works, not when he's starting to thrust, and Crosshairs squeezes around his spike.

"Flick your node then?"

"Please do if ye want to." Crosshairs mewls.

Barricade reaches around to stroke the Corvettes anterior node, and it earns him a loud wail of approval. The enthusiasm is arousing, if the tight heat around his spike wasn't enough, and he's racing towards the edge quickly.

"I'm going to overload soon." He grinds out.

"Me too!"

"Where should I shoot my load?"

"Inside me! I wan' my ass full of cum."

_Well, that's one way to put it. _

_Don't say you don't like it, though, the thought of him wanting it, and this mental image of your spunk in his aft._

Crosshairs overloads, wailing into the mattress, and Barricade is right behind, slamming in deep when the coil in the pit of his stomach is finally released. Crosshairs goes strutless, hips held up by Barricade's denting grip until the Interceptor has spilled everything, then he lets go of the Corvette, and Crosshairs collapses on the berth.

Barricade can't help but stare in fascination at the slack rim of Crosshairs port, the way his transfluid is dribbling out, and his spike gives a dull throb.

_Well fucked ass. He really should've tried this a long time ago._

_See why Hide wants to watch your little butt drool? Can't complain much about that now can you?_

_Whatever._


	166. Chapter 166

"So will you do it? I don't have any credits, but you can get the first test drive..." Barricade says, not feeling nearly as smooth and seductive as he is trying to be.

Ratchet frowns, but it's hard to say if it's pity, mild disgust, or that he doesn't think Barricade's effort to be sexy is good enough.

"Ye fixed it fer me, so I know ye 'ave the right stuff te do it, Doc. Ye always know what te do. _Please?" _Crosshairs says, tacking on that innocent, sweet smile that makes it impossible to believe that he was begging for cum in his aft an hour ago.

"I'll do it for free this time. But don't think everything will always be free! I'm just not keen on fixing up a busted port. Calipers can be a bitch to fix." Ratchet mutters.

"Thank you, Sir!" Barricade says with honest relief before he climbs up on the repair berth.

"Keeping you from unnecessary pain and damage is justifiable. Did the seal removal work? I mean, you didn't notice any complications?"

"No, it worked well. It didn't hurt or anything when I Interfaced."

"'oly scrap! Ye were a _virgin_ when ye moved in?!"

Ratchet scowls at Crosshairs as if he had forgotten about Barricade's self proclaimed moral support.

"Yeah." 

"Enough! We will get this done so I can move on to the next patient, who may be in a more dire situation than just fucking in every way all the time!" Ratchet growls.

"We will talk about this later." Crosshairs stage whispers.

Barricade just rolls his optics. He isn't keen on talking about that, especially since he hasn't even shared everything with Jazz, but he's definitely not going to get into an argument when Ratchet has basically told them to shut up. Who knows what the medic will do? Nope, hes not risking his aft over this. _Literally_.


	167. Chapter 167

The most awkward part is the test of his new protocols. The installation is easy: Ratchet hardlines with him and installs them, and the first control protocols are unpacked quickly.

"The rest of the installation will take some time, so we'll do a quick test now, and then you go home. If something feels off when the installation is finished, you come back. It's just parameters, presettings and finer motor control, so nothing crucial. You should be able to control your calipers fairly well now. Curl up on your side, and open your panel."

_His favorite position! Ugh._

A digit slips into him.

"Squeeze."

Barricade finds the right protocol and activates it, feeling his port clench around the digit. It feels weird to have that kind of control.

"Good. Open up."

It's even weirder to feel his calipers lose their grip on the digit.

"More." 

"Ye'll easily take Hide now!"

Ratchet field flares irritably at the same time as Barricade flushes with embarrassment, and then a clang resounds through the room.

"Ow! No wrenches!" Crosshairs whines.

"Then take the _chair_, like a normal moral support, instead of behaving as if this is one of your perverted shows!"

"Maybe ye wouldn' be so cranky if ye came te one o' our shows? A bit o' pussy te unwind..." Crosshairs mutter-pouts, and when he comes into Barricade's line of vision — to take the chair as he was ordered — he's rubbing his helm. "Drift would be thrilled te do a li'l dance, an' make a li'l love."

"I'm old enough to be his Sire."

"'e could need a Daddy."

Ratchet's field does a mighty cringe.

"Can we not talk about _that_?"

"Drift's also good at more pedestrian stuff, if ye prefer tha'. Ooh, ye could play doctor! 'Open up, I need te make sure yer reformat went well, an' all the components are functioning properly.'"

If Ratchet's field isn't way off, he's probably glaring at Crosshairs, and Barricade is half certain that Crosshairs will suddenly have a hole burned through his helm. The annoyance is not fully covering the Medic's embarrassed arousal, though.

"Enough! One more word, and you're out!"

"Ye're the Doc!" Crosshairs leers innocently before making a gesture that he's locking his lip-plates shut.

"Sorry about that, Barricade, but you're the one who wanted to let him stay in here."

"'s alright, Ratchet." Barricade says, because he's not going to complain and risk peeving the Medic off even more.

"Close your port again, please."

He does, squeezing a digit before it slips out.

"It's working properly so far. You should experiment a bit with it when it's fully installed, and learn how it works. There's a manual in the data package too, read that. And you're free to go."

Barricade closes his plate and slips down from the berth."

"Thank you, Ratchet. If I can make it up to you somehow, you let me know." 

_Not that he knows anything he _could_ do, except letting Ratchet fuck him, but it's always good to try to stay on the mech's good side._

"You're welcome. You can do me a favor and get him out of here. I'm sure _his_ aft is about to explode from keeping his mouth shut for so long." Ratchet mutters, pointing at Crosshairs.

They don't linger.


	168. Chapter 168

Crosshairs's field is vibrating with curiosity when they leave Ratchet's place.

"Ye were still a virgin when ye moved in? 'ow's tha' even possible?! Ye were like tegether with Jazz before, right?"

He doesn't want to talk about it, both because it means bringing up stuff he'd rather forget, but also because there's a very real risk that the truth about his relationship with Jazz will make his current situation far worse, if the pleasurebots will hold a grudge against him for it.

"How much has Jazz told you?"

"Jus' tha' ye kept 'im out o' jail, an' tha' ye were like frag buddies or somethin'. He didn' define it, almost sounded like 'e wasn' certain 'imself about wha' ye were."

"I was an Enforcer back then, and I asked for sexual favors — among other things — in exchange for looking the other way and not bringing some mechs in. I didn't want to use my valve, so I only spiked him."

Crosshairs frowns but doesn't say anything.

"I mean, I was thinking I did a good thing: mechs kept from getting their third strike for ridiculously petty stuff. Then I really fell for Jazz, and I wanted to be with him for real, but internal affairs found out about my drug use, and that I was letting mechs get away with some crimes if they paid me for it, so I went to prison before we really had a chance to get serious."

It's a polished version, because it sounds better than spelling out just how abusive it was, but it's close enough to the truth.

"But 'ow can ye never 'ave tried usin' yer valve?! It's the best thing!" Crosshairs says, apparently not that concerned with the entire consent part of Barricade's sordid history.

Barricade is relieved that Crosshairs doesn't seem to judge his past too harshly. 

_On the other servo, crooked cops are probably what keeps Crosshairs and a good part of Ironhide's crew out of prison, so maybe his past is even something positive?_

They fold into alt mode and drive back towards the house.

::Step-sire took advantage of me when I still had my last frame — took my seal on that array — and when that was finally over, I never wanted to do it again. Kept that promise to myself until... Well, until Ironhide.::

Crosshairs is silent for a while.

::I 'ad a teacher like tha'. A slimy, ugly bastard. But I 'ad already acquired some positive experience before tha', so I wouldn' let 'im destroy it fer me. I really like te be fragged.::

::It _can_ be pretty good.:: Barricade admits, because he does like it with Jazz, and Ironhide has made it very pleasurable most of the time, and the rest of the times, he's made sure that Barricade makes it pleasing himself.

They drive up in front of the house and transforms back to root mode.

"It's the best thing! An' I really like 'ow special it makes me feel when I'm chosen. Like, we go' all these ho' mechs livin' 'ere, but I can make them all want me. I 'ave what they crave. The brothers could probably get anyone they want in the entire city, bu' they come te me, because _I'm_ wha' they want. Makes me feel like a million credits."

_That doesn't really sound like healthy reasoning..._


	169. Chapter 169

"How did you wind up here? I mean, I heard that you grew up in a rich family..."

"My carrier deactivated durin' my emergence. My sire didn' 'ave time fer me when I was little, 'e 'ad a business te run, an 'e was gettin' into politics, an' my big brother Percy was like a prodigy or somethin', so 'e was the favorite whenever dad was 'ome anyway. I was taken care of by servants, an' raised myself until I started goin' te school. I was always actin' up te get attention, an' le' me tell ye, tha' did no' improve the way dad saw me."

They walk into the house, and the rec room is empty of people for once. Crosshairs walks over to the bar and pours a cube of high grade.

"Ye wan' one too? We can go te my room an' swap stories."

He doesn't really want to tell his story, but on the other servo, he's so curious about Crosshairs's way from towers brat to whore. He can always choose what parts of his past to talk about and what not to.

"Yes, please."

Crosshairs pours another one, and Barricade grabs it before following Crosshairs back to his room.

"I was in 'igh school when dad was up for 'is first election, an' we were livin' in the suburbs, an' one thing tha' was discussed a lo' back then was the difference in quality of schools from area te area. So dad proposed tha' a few students from a poor neighborhood would go te our school. I' was nothin' but a publicity stunt, but i' was such a spectacle made 'bout it in the press, an' it was so exciting when they started there. _War frames_. I'd never seen one in real life, an' they were both cool an' ho'. I didn' 'ave many friends, because all the parents thought I was a bad influence."

They step into Crosshairs's room, and Barricade's optics fall on something he didn't notice before, something fluffy, and pink, vaguely looking like a cyberpony, but with a horn on the forehelm, and much plumper. It's almost the same length as Barricade.

"What is that?"

"My unicorn! Hide ordered i' fer me. It's modelled after a species of animals on an organic planet in the next solar system. I really 'ate te recharge alone, an' the few times I do, I like te cuddle it."

It's a weird quirk, but Barricade certainly isn't going to comment on it. The unicorn thingy does look very soft and cuddle friendly.


	170. Chapter 170

Crosshairs plunks down on his berth and pats the covers next to him, inviting Barricade to take a seat. 

"Anyway, I wanned te 'ang out with them, so I started te try te talk te them. Nobot else did, the other students looked down their olfactories on them. At first, they jus' kept te themselves, they were jus' political pawns, not really interested in goin' te our school at all. They wanned te be with their own crowd, of course. But eventually, they le' me share cygs with them at the breaks, hangin' out behind the school, an' I finally felt like I belonged te a crowd too. I 'ad friends."

Barricade remembers hearing about that kind of exchange of students when he was in school. His district wasn't one of the chosen areas though.

"Wan' me te show ye instead?" Crosshairs says, indicating a hatch on his arm.

It's quicker than telling the story, and showing memories really shows the feelings that comes with them, but Barricade is surprised that Crosshairs is so willing to share vulnerabilities and experiences so openly.

"We all do it 'ere — us entertainers at least — almost everyone 'as showed each other things 'bout their past. Makes it easier te be around each other, an' te know wha's ok an' wha might no' be te do an' say."

_It does make sense, and even if they still are obligated to go along with what the brothers want, at least the pleasurebots can keep from making jokes or suggestions to each other that will put someone severely off. And if he returns the favor, he can choose what memories to show._

"Sounds good."

He unrolls his cable and plugs it into the data port on Crosshairs lower arm. Then there's that moment of vertigo before he's seeing everything from Crosshairs point of view at the time.

_A very hazy, definitely drunken point of view._

He's at a party, a really wild one apparently. No parents at home. He's thrilled, because he has never been to a party like this. There's a jug of home distilled energon on a table, and sweet energon to mix it with, the air smells of cyg smoke, both regular and laced with weed. It's like a wall of noise he's walking through, everyone more or less drunk. A few mechs, as young as him, are passed out already, and there's a few couples in a stage somewhere between making out and full on interfacing on the couches. He doesn't know any of the mechs he's passing, but they still greet him nicely, looking him up and down, because his streamlined raceframe sticks out like a sore thumb among all the heavy War frames.

Someone snags him with a massive arm across his waist, and everything spins when he's hauled back. When everything slows down, his sitting in Impactor's lap. He's handed another drink, and Crosshairs downs half of it in one go.

"'ello!" He grins up at the massive mech, one of the three in this party he knows.

A servo slides up his thigh, and Impactor smirks.

"Hey, Crosshairs. Having fun?"

"Oh, yeh!"

A thumb starts to rub the panel between his legs, and he squirms, because it feels kind of nice. He knows the mechanics of interfacing, the dry facts provided in a couple of short lessons at school, and he also knows that he shouldn't do it yet. 

_Something about the right age, and some intricate social rules? _

He can't remember, and certainly can't focus on it when Impactor's servo feel so good on his frame, and he's getting hot, and everything is so very fuzzy.

_When did they start kissing?_

Suddenly, he's so sensitive down there, hips jerking with every move of those digits, bucking into the touch, because it's too much and not enough at the same time. Crosshairs manages to break the kiss, looking down, and he can't believe his optics — when he finally manages to get them to focus — and sees his panel open, his array bare to see for anyone looking.

"Wanna take this somewhere else?" Impactor murmurs into his audial, voice crackling with static, digits still slipping through Crosshairs's wet folds. 

"I-I'm no'... I don'... I think I shouldn'?"

_Why shouldn't he? Why is it so fragging hard to think?_

"So you _are_ a whimp after all. Just like everyone else in school. I thought you were cooler than that, thought you were more like us. Not some little Daddy's bot, doing everything your Sire says."

"I'm _no'_ a whimp." Crosshairs grinds out.

_He doesn't obey his Sire when he doesn't want to._


	171. Chapter 171

It feels like he's going to fall over — gyros out of whack, and his processor is spinning — but Impactor's broad front against his back is pretty solid, and the servo roaming his unsteady frame helps him stumble through the walk down the hallway and into a berth room. Crosshairs flops down on the lumpy mattress, and he starts to giggle, and he can't exactly say what about this feels so funny, but it's just hilarious somehow. 

Impactor crawls onto the berth, pushing him until he's sprawled in the middle of it. Crosshairs's knees are nudged apart, the digits find his slick array again, and he arches his back to get more friction, a mewl leaving his vocalizer.

"That eager?"

Crosshairs doesn't have the wherewithal to answer, moving against the servo.

"I don' 'ave any of the cost... constra..." He slurs when he suddenly remembers _that_ part of what they're doing.

_Oh, shit! They're actually going to do it, aren't they?! He shouldn't. But he wants to be cool too. And what Impactor is doing feels great..._

"I'll wrap it. I don't want to knock you up more than you want that to happen."

Crosshairs manages to lift his helm to look at the mech, partially in disappointment, because the wonderful fingers are gone from his aching array. Impactor is rolling something onto his spike, and Crosshairs's processor manages to compute that it's a condom. It's a relief, so he lets his helm fall back, his entire frame feeling numb and weak.

He feels when Impactor rubs his spike back and forth through Crosshairs's slick slit, and then the blunt head pushes against the opening, popping inside when his calipers give in. It's a bit uncomfortable, but not that bad. A big servo grab his hip for leverage, lifting him up for a better angle, the dangerous looking spear resting across the small of his back to hold him up.

"This may hurt a bit, but that'll be over quickly, then it'll feel good." Impactor says, then he surges forward.


	172. Chapter 172

There's a sharp pain that makes him cry out when Impactor hilts himself in one thrust, but the big mech holds still, and the pain fades. Crosshairs squirms, the spike's girth pressing against things inside him that are already sensitive from his charge. It feels kind of good, but it just isn't enough, doesn't bring that tightening in the pit of his stomach that Impactor's digits did.

Impactor takes his squirming as a go-ahead sign, and starts moving; long thrusts that makes Crosshairs slide up the berth every time Impactor bottoms out. He's trying to meet Impactor with his hips, but he can't really move much with the way Impactor is holding him. There's that tightening coil in the lower part of his abdomen, a pressure building slowly, and even if Crosshairs has no idea what it is, he is certain that he wants it to be released.

"I-I can'... please keep touchin' me!" He whines, not sure exactly what he needs.

"Can't. I'm the one holding you up. Touch yourself. Flick your node, stroke your spike, whatever floats your boat."

In spite of the situation he's in, Crosshairs flushes, because he hasn't even noticed that his spike has pressurized. It lasts only for a few moments, then he reaches down to his array, digits numbed by high grade clumsily exploring the folds. He feels the thick spike sliding in and out of him, and his digits linger there for long seconds — skimming over the slick length as it slides in and out of him at a steady rhythm — as he finds it both intriguing and exciting. Then he goes back to exploring the external parts of his array and finds the sensitive nub Impactor was touching before, and he starts circling it with his digit. 

_It feels so good._

He moans loudly, optics meeting Impactor's, and the big mech smirks hungrily at him, rhythm not faltering. Crosshairs grabs his spike too, starting to stroke it, and with all the stimulation, it doesn't take long before the pressure is released. Crosshairs overloads with a wail, his spike shooting sticky fluid across his abdominal plating, valve clenching around the spike inside him. It pulls Impactor with him, the War frame's hips stuttering before he presses in deep. 

Crosshairs goes limp, and Impactor drops him and pulls out, toppling forward to land stretched out next to Crosshairs, pressing a kiss to the Corvette's lip-plates before pulling him closer.

"You're all sticky. Not bad for a first-timer, though. I'll give you 9.0 out of 10 points for your performance."

Crosshairs snorts, rolling over on his side and pressing his back against Impactor's front. A servo splays on his hip, and it is nice, because it really feels like a display of affection. Secretly, Crosshairs is thrilled. 

"I need to rest a little, then we can do it again." Impactor says, servo slipping down to Crosshairs's ventral plating.

_Impactor thinks he's good at this. Nobot ever thinks he's good at anything. Nobot ever wants to hang out with him, but Impactor wanted to get as close as possible, closer than he thought possible, and now Impactor wants to do it again soon. He has interfaced for the first time, and he feels so bad in a good way, so cool._

Then he passes out.


	173. Chapter 173

"Ye know, I was so hung over when I woke up, I thought I might offline. An' I 'ad te get back 'ome without anyone 'earin' me sneak in. I don' think I was fit te drive really, but I did. It was really early, an' no' many mecha were out, bu' it felt like all of 'em knew I wasn't a virgin anymore, an I was freakin' out abou' it." Crosshairs chuckles. "At least I wasn' pulled over, an I managed te get into the 'ouse without anyone wakin' up." He tells Barricade out loud, tipping back to stretch out on the berth.

Barricade follows Crosshairs's example, laying next to him, while Crosshairs sifts through his memory files. There's short flashes of them seeping over their link when he watches a few seconds here and there before dismissing them.

_Perceptor telling him to stop acting like a slut, that he's embarrassed to have a little brother who's flirting with a War frame. Ha, if only he knew that _flirting_ isn't the only thing he's doing with Impactor..._

_His Sire in a towering rage after the cleaning drone found the bottle of high grade under his berth and snitched him out._

_The teacher yelling at him for being late again, giving him detention, and his smugness knowing what exactly he was doing in the gymnasium washracks that made him late. Or rather _who_ he was doing__._

One of the files starts playing for real, and after the quick flashes, it's very disorienting to suddenly be immersed again.

Barricade recognizes the rotary mech, not only because Crosshairs knows him and Barricade is in his memory, but because he has met him before. 

_Vortex, the horrible bastard from prison._

The Helo is younger, not upgraded to his adult frame yet, but it's obviously him. They're hanging out behind the school, in the park. It's so obvious that it's a school in a wealthy area, because it's nothing like the surroundings of the school Barricade went to. Organic plants make the park look like a foreign world, exotic. _Secluded_.

"Come on, _please?"_ Vortex coaxes. "I'd really like it." His servo comes up to cup Crosshairs's helm, thumb rubbing his bottom lip. "You're so pretty."

"Bu' I'm with Impactor. I shouldn'..."

_But it's such a heady feeling to be wanted, to be called pretty._

"He'll be fine with it." Vortex lifts his helm, looking at something behind Crosshairs. "Right, Pac?"

"Yeah, I don't mind. I think it would be really hot, actually. Go ahead, give him a blow job."

Crosshairs looks over his shoulder to find Impactor smirking at them, arms crossed. Whirl is there too.

"You see? He doesn't mind sharing. And that's so good, because we all want to touch you, and fuck you, and we know that you're so willing. And you're pretty." Vortex murmurs. "So, how about you make me really happy and suck my spike?"

_They all want him. He finally belongs somewhere._

It isn't hard to sink to his knees, licking the head of Vortex's spike. The Copter plants a servo on his helm, holding the shaft of his spike with the other, and with a roll of his hips, he pushes it into Crosshairs's intake with a groan. It tastes bitter of pre-transfluid, a cloying taste sticking to his glossa, but Crosshairs doesn't mind, because he's happy to do this.

_Vortex said he was pretty, and they all want him._

"Look at me when you do this. You look so good like that..." Vortex says.

Crosshairs flicks his optics up to meet the Helo's visor as Vortex starts to thrust slowly into his mouth. He places his servos on Vortex's hips for balance when his knees are nudged apart, a servo making quick work of opening his interface cover.

"This is so hot." Impactor growls, lining up his spike and pushing inside Crosshairs's dry valve.

Whirl is standing to the side, stroking his spike, and it sends a heat to Crosshairs's array, quickly slicking him up.

_They're all turned on by him._

"Damn, you're getting wet fast, you horny little slut. Whirl will take over when one of us finishes, so you can decide which hole you get him in by getting one of us off fast." Impactor rumbles behind him, pounding into him with powerful thrusts.

Crosshairs mewls around the spike in his intake and clenches his valve repeatedly, hoping for another cock to fill his pussy before this is over.


	174. Chapter 174

"I finally found somethin' I was good at. The mech's in school 'ad always stayed away from me, but it was really funny te see 'ow quickly they'd turn interested if I flirted a li'l. Perceptor said 'e was so ashamed of bein' my brother, but I think 'e was jealous of the attention I was gettin'." In spite of Crosshairs sounding proud and cocky about it, his field betrays an underlying insecurity, a sliver of a feeling of inadequacy, but it's subdued, as if he's trying to hide it.

Barricade crawls closer, pressing up against Crosshairs to comfort him. He knows all too well about loneliness. The circumstances are vastly different, but being considered stupid and worthless is something he is familiar with.

"Thank you for sharing. You're strong to do it."

Crosshairs just nods, then the next memory starts.

He's drunk again, and the loud music is audible through the wall to the berth room he's in. Crosshairs is on his back, legs hooked over the mech's arms as the Tank is pounding into him. He can't remember the mech's name, but it doesn't matter; he's hot, and he gives it good. Crosshairs overloads with a wail, and the tank follows him over, grunting as he spills inside Crosshairs's valve.

"We should do this again sometime." The Tank says.

"Absolutely!"

"You coming with me, or are you staying here?"

A glob of transfluid dribbles out of his valve, mingling with the fluids already staining the mattress.

"I'm tired, I think I'll rest fer a while."

The Tank leaves, and Crosshairs is almost dropping off into recharge when someone else comes into the room. He forces his optics to online, and finds Impactor standing there.

"'ello, babe." Crosshairs mumbles, sliding his servos down his ventral plating. "Wanna 'ave some fun?"

Impactor reaches for Crosshairs's array, spreading his valve-lips with his digits, looking down at the drooling opening.

"Ugh, sloppy seconds, and I don't have any more jimmys. Turn over."

Crosshairs flops over on his front while Impactor rummages through the drawers of a storage unit. He's close to falling into recharge when the berth dips and Impactor kneels between his legs. His hips are hiked up, and he hears the snap of a bottle, then something slips into his aft, and Crosshairs squirms.

"Oi, what're ye doin'?" He slurs.

"Shh, I just need to lube you up first. Your cunt is all creamed up, I'm not plowing that, but I'm horny, and this will be so good..."

Impactor sissors his digits, and something cold is poured into Crosshairs's port. Impactor pumps his digits a couple of times, then he pulls out, and Crosshairs hears a wet, slick sound as Impactor strokes spike a couple of times to smear it with the lubricant, and then the head of his spike is pushed against Crosshairs's ass. He whines into the pillow when it pops inside, because it's anything but comfortable.

"Pit, you're so _tight_. My favorite slut, this is why I like you so much; you don't hesitate to do the things everyone else is saying 'no' to. The best cock sleeve, always up for anything." Impactor grunts, pushing inside.

Crosshairs bites the pillow to not cry out, but he doesn't ask Impactor to stop either, because if this is what keeps Impactor coming back to him, then he's going to take it.

Digits start to toy with his anterior node, and in spite of the uncomfortable stretch, his charge rises quickly, and suddenly, he overloads. Impactor slams in deep, spike pulsing as he overloads, then he pulls out and crawls off the berth.

"All yours." He says.

Crosshairs looks up, and finds Vortex and Whirl there too, staring hungrily at him.

"I can't believe he takes it up the ass too. What a floozy." Vortex says to nobody in particular as Whirl crawls up behind Crosshairs.

A small part of Crosshairs — one that's coherent enough to process what they actually think about him — is offended. 

"I know! Tight as fuck, though. Well, maybe not now..." Impactor snickers.

But he doesn't want to risk that they'll get bored of him though, and he's too drunk and tired to protest anyway, so he doesn't say anything. 

Impactor slips out of the room while Whirl's spike slips into Crosshairs's ass.


	175. Chapter 175

Whirl is done and has left, and Vortex is the one fucking him when the door flies open. The Helo turns, and then he scrambles backwards. Crosshairs doesn't have time to react — not that he is really capable of processing anything quickly — before his arm is grabbed and he's yanked off the berth.

"What in the _pit_ do you think you are _doing?!_" His Sire snarls as Crosshairs tumbles to the floor, hitting his knee and hip in the landing.

"Hey, he offered, and I just..." Vortex starts to defend himself.

"Shut up, if you know what's good for you."

Crosshairs is climbing to his pedes, not a very easy task considering how everything is spinning.

"You filthy, disgusting little _slut_!" His Sire spits vehemently, and Crosshairs is backhanded so hard across the face, he falls to the floor with a clatter, crying out in pain. "Look at you; bent over with your panels open, all covered in fluids. How many have you allowed to fuck you?"

"I-I... I don' know." He cries, and suddenly he's so humiliated by everything — the lubricant and transfluid on his thighs and aft, the weird slickness in his loose port, still dribbling transfluid — he just wants to melt into the floor. "F-five..."

"You're a thoroughly _disgusting_ little whore, and it would've been better if you hadn't made it through your emergence. You're a disgrace to our family." His Sire growls, his field conveying every bit of the derisive disgust he feels when he looks at his youngest creation.

Crosshairs curls up there, crying into his knees, feeling lower than he ever has felt before. Vortex has slipped out of the room while his Sire has vented his feelings, but that hardly matters.

"Let's go, I have our transport waiting."

Crosshairs slowly gets up. He can't seem to find the protocols to close his panels, so with numb and uncoordinated digits, he clumsily tries to close them manually.

"Don't bother. I think everyone is already aware of what a worthless, disgusting little harlot you are."

It's the worst walk of shame he has ever been through. Optics locked on the floor, he walks through the house, his Sire just a few steps behind him.

_They're all going to laugh at him, being picked up by his Sire. How he spread his legs, the way he let them take him..._

Their driver puts a protective cover on the seat before he's allowed into the transport.

"Call Pharma." 

"At this hour, Sir? Shouldn't we call the Enforcers? The quicker an assault is reported, the better, and the Enforcers have their own medics."

"I just want him checked for diseases and unwanted sparkings. I can't exactly file charges against mecha for interfacing with a willing little _whore_."

"Oh. _Oh!_ Certainly, Sir." The driver pulls out into the street. "Pharma is standing by, Sir."


	176. Chapter 176

Pharma's lips curl with disgust at his appearance.

"Do you need me to get rape kits?" The Medic asks his Sire.

"No, it was _consensual."_ His Sire spits. "Just check for transmittable diseases and signs of carrying. I hold no hopes for him still having a seal."

"Then you can shower first." Pharma says, clearly relieved to not be forced to deal with the amount of fluids on Crosshairs's frame.

In the washracks, Crosshairs sinks to the floor, curling up under the stream of water, crying into his knees. He knows of the rumors about him, the things people at school are saying about him — nasty comments about his character — but he hasn't taken it to spark, because in spite of what they are saying to their friends, a lot of them certainly don't say no to a roll in the berth. But this is so utterly humiliating, and he's also worried that his friends are going to get in trouble, and will blame _him_ for it.

Still drunk, and feeling horribly tired, he decides to just get it over with, so that he can go home and recharge. He grabs the hose and washes up before going back to the examination room.

Crawling onto the medberth and spreading his legs is another humiliating experience, and he offlines his optics to not see the Medic he has always disliked, and his seething Sire. Digits prod his valve, and something is pushed inside and swirled around.

"Test shows no signs of disease. Is that a bolt you've installed in the chamber?"

"Yes..." He whispers hoarsely, because it's certainly a testament to his activities.

"Figures."

"Contraception?!" His Sire asks.

"Yes." Pharma confirms.

"Well, of course: so you can whore yourself out and not think of the consequences." His Sire snarls at him.

Crosshairs's lip trembles, but he refuses to start crying.

"I see that you recently have been penetrated in the port too, so I need to check for pathogens there too."

His Sire's field flares with derision and disgust, and then another scanning wand slips into him. He's a bit sore back there, but still slick, and the tool isn't thick, so the humiliation of knowing that they know he took it there is the worst part.

"Have you had oral sex?"

"No' tonight."

"But of course you've sucked cock before..." His Sire mutters.

"I'll check your intake too, then."

"And when you're done, remove the bolt. Maybe he can keep his legs closed with that risk hanging over his helm?" Then his Sire turns to him. "I'd leave you here and let you find your way home by yourself, but I don't trust you to not find a cock to suck before you make it home."


	177. Chapter 177

Crosshairs skips a bunch of memories in his timeline, opening a few here and there, going back and forth to find the one he's looking for. At one point, he lingers on one where he's at home and a mech who's a friend of his older brother Perceptor is there. He touches Crosshairs, servos roaming his frame, saying he has fantasized about getting him alone for a while. They wind up fucking on the couch in the TV room Crosshairs shares with his brother, then in the shower, and then in Crosshairs's berth. He's forced to sneak out in the evening to find a pharmacy that's still open and get an emergency contraception router, and since he's grounded and his allowance withheld, he's forced to steal money from Perceptor to buy it. The next time he hooks up with the mech — just a couple of days later, the mech skipping school just to see Crosshairs — he takes it up the ass instead, because it's just easier.

"I managed te sneak enough money from Dad te get a new bolt installed after 'bout a week. Wasn' easy te get te the clinic, all the servants were watchin' me on Dad's orders, but I managed. Didn' get a chance te meet up with my friends though..." He trails off as he finds the next piece of his history that he finds relevant to share. 

It starts with him standing in their huge refueling room. Crosshairs has found it close to impossible to meet his Sire's optics since that night, and he feels lucky that his Sire is working so much. But now he has been summoned, and he's standing by the table, optics riveted to the floor, while his Sire slowly finishes his aluminum crackers before wiping his intake with a chamois napkin.

"You cannot go to school with them anymore, but too much is at stake for me to kick them out. Believe me, I really would, but it would be a scandal if I did so after being the one to initiate this exchange program. All optics are on me, and this project. Just sending you to another school somewhere close by may raise questions too. If some nosey fragger starts digging, my career is on the line if my name gets squandered like that. So, I only see one option: you're going to boarding school far away."

"Wha'?! _Why?!_"

"Are you stupid? No, scratch that, I already know that you are. I've had it with you, and all the shit you pull that could jeapordize my entire career. This is just the last one in a long line of transgressions. I represent the conservative party. Just think about all the occasions where I've made your misdemeanors go away just to keep the lid on them. I can't get the kind of publicity like my creation getting pulled over for constant traffic violations, possession of astro-weed, underage drinking, and now this."

"I's _my_ frame! An I wasn' the only one involved. Why am _I_ the one who need te leave everything? It takes two mechs ta interface."

"Funny how it seemed like you needed _nine_ mechs to interface, not two. In one night."

_Nine?! _

"It was five." _Impactor, Whirl, Vortex, that Tank he can't remember the designation of, and a Shuttle before that. _

"Not according to Pharma's preliminary analysis of transfluid. And if someone was using a condom, it may very well have been more than nine. And all of them spilled inside you, you harlot. You allowed them to have you like that, spread your legs like a common whore." 

Crosshairs feels his face flush, because he certainly can't remember that many. His Sire is silent for long moments to let the shame sink in, take root, and bloom.

"This is a good indication that you need to keep away from high grade, and need to learn of proper practices for interfacing. And since you seem to not be a real mech, not interested in using your spike, you really do need to keep your legs closed, so that your next seal is intact and I at least can wed you to someone important. You clearly will never be anything yourself, so if you enjoy spreading your legs, a conjux is all you'll ever be. I'll be damned if I will let myself be humiliated by trying to find a mech for an unsealed harlot. I'm sending you to a school run by the priesthood."

It's too much, so many nasty things to hear about himself at once, and he's being sent away, away from the only friends he has, the only mechs who have ever seen him as anything more than a nuisance.

Holding back the sobs wracking his frame just long enought to hear the door to the refueling room shut behind him, Crosshairs flees to his room and curls up on his berth, wailing into his pillow.


	178. Chapter 178

"So they shipped me off te the religious school. As if a tramp like me wouldn' be able te find someone te frag there." 

The words sound cocky, but there's something in Crosshairs's tone of voice that betrays how deeply hurt he was by the entire ordeal, and 

Over their link, Barricade sees the clips as Crosshairs's sifts through the memories, and there's quite a few of a cute looking praxian.

"Bluestreak. 'e was so sweet, an' we were really into each other. 'ad te keep it quiet, stay under the radar of the teachers, an' tha' was such a thrill. 'e was a good li'l bot, though, so we never go' further than a few chaste kisses, an' some hugs, then 'e'd stop it. An me, bein' a slut who needs physical connection, felt like I wasn' good enough. So, 'is cousin Smokescreen 'ad been flirtin' with me, makin' all these jokes with lascivious innuendos an' stuff, so one day, I let 'im frag me in the laundry room. Then I broke up with Blue."

He finally finds the memory he's looking for, and Barricade slips into it, immediately experiencing a chill that travel down his back-struts that isn't his — it accompanies the memory — but it might as well have been his own revulsion.

_Dirge is staring at him again. _

The Seeker has done so from day one, and it creeps him out, because he can't know for sure _why_ Dirge stares at him. Crosshairs just gets the feeling that the Seeker does so a lot more than what he notices, because he gets these feelings of being watched, and when he looks around, he often finds Dirge close by. Not necessarily always watching him when he spots him, but it feels as if he has just turned away, or perhaps watching him with some of his other sensors. It creeps him out because Dirge is old, and not at all attractive, and when he stares, Crosshairs can't help but wonder if the teacher finds _him_ attractive, and that really is a gross line of thought, because he does not want _Dirge_ to think of him like that.

He hurries off to his next class, just to get out of the Seeker's line of sight, but his spark is spinning a little too quickly, because he knows that he'll arrive early, and will have to wait in the hallway, and if he's the first one there, Dirge can still go there and stare at him. He winds up hiding in the maintenance room until just before the class starts.

Of course that's just a way to borrow some time, because the class will be over eventually, and if he doesn't see Dirge anymore today, they will meet again tomorrow. And the next day, and...

_But he's just looking, so it's nothing to care about, right? He's overreacting. Dirge has never been anything but polite, and he is generous when grading Crosshairs papers, because truth be told, even he can see that he may not have earned the grades he has gotten so far. Maybe he's just taking some extra care to make sure that the student who was very hastily transferred in the middle of the semester is getting settled?_

Feeling much calmer, he settles into the drone of the teacher's lecture on a part of the covenant of Primus, nearly falling into light recharge as the hours wear on, so he focuses back on the enigma that is the Seeker.

_He's going to show Dirge that there's nothing to worry about. He's going to start to greet him in the hallways, and show that he has settled in and adapted to this boring fragging place. Then Dirge won't have to try to figure those things out._

But when is anything ever that simple?


	179. Chapter 179

"We need to talk about your grades, Crosshairs." Dirge says, shutting the door to his office before taking his seat at the oppulent desk. 

The office reminds him of his Sire's office. Crosshairs is sitting on the chair opposite his teacher, and his spark is starting to speed up, partially our of habit. He has been in this situation before, being told exactly how worthless he is, and all his shortcomings.

"My grades 'ave been adequate, 'aven' they?" He asks nervously. _He isn't smart like Perceptor, but he hasn't flunked any tests at all so far._

"Yes, but I've been very lenient when grading your papers. I know it's hard to transfer in the middle of the semester, but I can't continue like that."

_He has been studying, what more can he do? Granted, he probably could study more, but he just doesn't see the point. It's hard, and boring, and no matter how many times he reads the homework, it just doesn't seem to stick in his processor. It's as if his CPU starts clapping it's audials, singing loudly just to get out of it._

"So wha' am I supposed te do? I'm jus' no' tha' clever..."

Dirge is silent for a long time, studying him. Crosshairs can sense how nervous the Seeker is, but also the anticipation in his field.

"I know why you're here, what made your Sire request the transfer..."

Crosshairs feels queasy as bright optics momentarily flick down to his chest-plates. 

_It isn't really that surprising that his Sire has told them about it, because they _are_ supposed to keep him from interfacing more. He's not that ashamed of most of the things he did, because he enjoys interfacing, and how good it makes him feel when he manages to snare someone new. Granted, the time at the party when his Sire found out did get a bit out of hand... It still irks him that Dirge knows for some reason, and he feels his face-plates flush._

"If you let me touch you a little, I'll leave the grades the way they are."

"Wha' about yer vow of chastity?" Crosshairs whispers weakly.

"Just a little touching. Nobot will ever know. It's in both our interests that we keep this quiet. I think your Sire would be very disappointed if your grades dropped..."

"I-I'll study 'arder! I'll earn those grades. Jus' give me some time."

"Don't be shy now, Crosshairs. I know you want it, I've noticed the way you've been flirting with me; always making sure to get a few words with me in the hallway, the way you always smile at me... It's just a little touching. I know you like that sort of stuff, that you enjoy spreading your legs for mechs. If you don't want to do these things, then you shouldn't flirt with mechs... It would be such a pity if your grades dropped, and your Father found out about you trying to flirt with your teachers..."


	180. Chapter 180

Just the thought of Dirge's servos on his frame makes his entire protoform crawl, but Primus knows what his Sire will do if he can't even manage to get half decent grades. _Or if his Father believes that he really was flirting._

"How do you want me?" He forces out around the lump in his throat, voice sounding thin and tinny.

Dirge's optics brighten, and his smile is as excited as a youngling's when getting a new toy.

"Come sit on my lap."

His knees shake when he walks around the desk, stopping in front of the seated Seeker. He has never felt this hesitant about something so simple. _Should he straddle him, or what?_ The least gross way to do this would be with his back to the mech. Servos on his hips urges him to turn and sit sideways, eager fingers haphazardly slipping under his plating without finesse. It feels awkward, because he has never done this with someone he really doesn't want to touch before, so he doesn't know where to put his servos. A sharp pinch to a sensitive wire under his chest-plates makes him wince.

"Ow!"

"Oh, you're sensitive there? I've never done this before."

The servo slides down between his legs, nudging his thighs to part, and even if his mind is screaming in protest, he does it. Unskilled digits grope the panel, and there's nothing arousing about it. It's clear that Dirge isn't going to manage to open it manually, so Crosshairs forces it open, swallowing repeatedly to not purge. 

"That's right, you little slut, open up."

The digits are there immediately, pinching his valve-lips, slipping over his node, through his slit, all the way back to his port.

"Tha's my aft." He says stiffly. 

_He may have taken it there a few times to please the mechs fucking him, but he's not really _that_ into it, and he's definitely not keen on having this gross bastard doing anything back there._

"I know. You've taken spike here too, haven't you, you slut?" Dirge purrs, cloying arousal swamping his field.

"Yes." Crosshairs whispers, ashamed to admit it.

A digit is pushed inside, but then it's pulled out again, just to be pushed inside his valve instead, and it's probably just dumb luck on the Seeker's part, but it hits a spot inside that makes Crosshairs's valve clench, and the lubrication to initiate. Crosshairs is absolutely mortified, disgusted with how his frame is responding to this gross mech. The Seeker sets a quick pace, fucking Crosshairs with a single digit, and it doesn't feel all that good, but Dirge still manages to hit that spot inside over and over, and he's getting so very wet.

"You like that, you little trollop."

Crosshairs doesn't answer, because he's mortified of his own frame's reactions. Dirge's hips are grinding against his aft, his pressurized spike leaving sticky trails of pre-transfluid on Crosshairs's plating, and in the midst of all the disgusting things, his own charge is rising.

Dirge overloads, transfluid making his lap wet to sit on, but he doesn't stop fingering Crosshairs, and the Corvette overloads too.

"Ah, you easy little slut. Bend over the desk. I'll clean you."

Face-plates flushing, Crosshairs leans his elbows on the desk, and allows Dirge to wipe him down with a rag.

"There," the Seeker says, patting his aft, "off you go. And remember; this is our little secret."

Crosshairs hurries out without another word, heading straight for the washracks. It's a good thing the stalls are sectioned off to keep them from looking at each other and get lustful ideas when showering, because as soon as he's under the spray, he starts to sob violently, leaning against the wall to keep from just sinking to the floor in a heap. He purges twice before he's finished cleaning, and no matter how much he scrubs himself, phantom stickiness is making his plating crawl where Dirge's transfluid clung to him.


	181. Chapter 181

Barricade crawls even closer to Crosshairs, wrapping his arm around him.

"I know exactly how you felt." He whispers hoarsely, because the emotional files that came with the memory reminded him so much of how it felt when his step-sire touched him.

Crosshairs hugs him back, but he's still flicking through his memories, and Barricade almost recoils from the accompanying numbness of the next one, because it's so very familiar; the same numbness he felt when he had gotten used to the assaults, when he'd reached the point where he just let it happen and waited for it to be over, detached. 

Crosshairs is bent over that desk, cheek pressed against the cool surface. Crosshairs optics are locked on a Petro bird, hopping on a crystal outside the window, and he's thinking about what energon to have for dinner, all the while Dirge is rutting into him. Every thrust rocks him, makes him slide back and forth against the smooth surface.

"Yes, take that, you little slut." Dirge grunts, pulling out to shoot his transfluid over Crosshairs aft.

Crosshairs doesn't move even when it's over. He allows the digits spreading his valve-lips before slipping into him, doesn't protest when a thumb is pushed into his port. He waits patiently while Dirge sates his desires and wipes him down. Dirge closes his panel manually for him, because the Seeker likes it that way; to feel that he's the one who decides when Crosshairs should be naked or covered.

"There, little harlot, pristine on the surface so nobody knows what a corrupted and defiled little slut you are. You've just earned yourself a B on tomorrow's test."

"Why don' I ever earn an A?" He asks, stretching from his position.

"You know why; A for 'Aft'."

_He's not going to stoop to that level if he can help it, not with this gross bastard. Though he is aware of how Dirge could easily demand it from him by just threatening to ruin his grades._

Crosshairs stops the memory.

"Ugh, how could you stand it?" Barricade says, cringing, even though he's all too aware of how _'standing it'_ has little to do with enduring something that's impossible to get away from.

"It go' a lo' easier when I started seein' it as the ultimate _'fuck ye'_ te Dad. 'e sent me te religious school te keep me from bein' my slutty self, an' there I was, bangin' a teacher of all mechs."

_He can't even tell if it's good or just twisted that Crosshairs manged to find empowerment in being raped._

_The crimes doesn't get less heinous just because he found a way to not feel victimized. Too bad he doesn't seem to realize that a lot of his experience so far was assaults too._

_Did you just sort of agree with me?_

_Yes...?_

_Weird._

_Yeah..._

"How did you manage to not be completely put off from using your valve? I mean, I know how gross you thought he was, even if you managed to find a way to see it like a _'fuck you, Dad'_. Fucking him doesn't really invite to wanting more with others."

"The facin' I'd done before I was sent away was good enough, made _me_ feel good enough for somethin', te make me want more. One bastard couldn' ruin tha'. An' I was fuckin' Smokescreen whenever I could, so there was good things te remind me of why I liked it in the first place."

_Crosshairs finding his only self worth in if he can make mechs want him for shallow interfacing still isn't a healthy coping strategy, but somehow he can relate, because he has been told of his own uselessness enough times to understand that black pit of self loathing and worthlessness. And considering where his own control issues landed him, he really shouldn't be too judgemental._

_Look! We're agreeing again!_


	182. Chapter 182

It's a startling difference when the next memory starts, and Crosshairs is straddling Dirge, servos on the desk, riding the Seeker with abandon. Dirge is groping Crosshairs's chest-plates, and Crosshairs could almost believe that it's Vortex, considering the lack of skills in those servos. Sure, not having to look at him while fucking makes it so much easier to pretend that it's someone else he's riding, but there's a lot of spiteful glee there too.

_His Sire really should see him now!_

Rough servos slide down to get a denting grip on his hips, urging him to go faster, and Crosshairs mewls exaggeratedly, because it can't be bad for his grades to make the mech believe that he really wants this.

The door flies open, and the principal gawks at them. Crosshairs doesn't know what to do, but Dirge pushes him off his lap, and he falls to the floor. 

"Sunstorm! I can explain...!" Dirge says.

Sunstorm is already on Crosshairs, grabbing his arm to hoist him to his pedes. The principal glares down at his still bare array; the lubricant and pre-transfluid that's staining his thighs, and he makes a disgusted face.

"What's to explain? You fell for the little harlot's wicked suggestions and temptations. He exploited your weakness to lure you to lay with him."

"I..." Dirge starts, apparently already headed up to try to defend himself, but then he breaks off momentarily. "Y-yes. That's what happened! I tried to ward him off, tried to say no, but he was _relentless!_ His filthy servos always straying to my plating, the way he'd whisper temptations in my audials..."

Sunstorm slaps Crosshairs across the cheek, and the Corvette cries out, servo instinctively coming up to cup his burning cheek.

"'ang on a second, I didn' do tha'..."

"Spare us your lies!" Sunstorm roars. "We know what kind of strumpet you are, and nothing you can say will convince me that one of my pious brothers would be the one to initiate something like that. You're doing the work of Unicron, and if you can't find the right path here, then you're forever doomed to be a cursed glutton for lust and sin." 

"Oi! 'e _threatened_ _te flunk _me if I didn' let 'im 'ave me!"

"Do you really expect me to believe that? That one of the teachers here — with a clean record, mind you, no complaints at all — would stoop so low as to extort you for your already overused, loose little valve? That the admitted slut would have nothing to do with this, while a devout mech would? _Please..."_ Sunstorm scoffs. "You sure didn't look like you were completely against it when I came in. I will call your Sire. You're going to be expelled, and you will never be welcome back."


	183. Chapter 183

The next line of memories Crosshairs skims over is a lot of his Sire yelling, and sometimes Crosshairs yelling back.

_— "You were supposed to keep your legs closed, not seduce a _teacher_!"_

_"'e _forced_ me! Wouldn' give me good grades if I didn' do it!"_

_"Well if you hadn't been so _stupid_, you could've studied to get those grades, like a _normal_ mech!" —_

There's a few bitch slaps from his brother Perceptor.

— _"You disgust me. Even everyone at _my_ school knows what a harlot you are, that you sleep with anyone who is willing to stick his cock in you. You're an embarrassment. It's your fault Carrier died too. It should've been you who didn't make it." —_

There's drinking, drug use, and interfacing. Sneaking out from house arrest, being pulled over by Enforcers — for being drunk, for speeding, for reckless driving — his Sire bailing him out several times. He's grounded, more yelling, more slaps. Pharma disabling his t-cog to make him unable to transform. Knock Out shows up briefly, looking very young, enabling his t-cog again.

"Knockie is a few years older than me, 'an 'e was fresh outta med school when this 'appened. We weren't friends, but we grew up in the same neighborhood, an' 'e 'elped me with my t-cog for a bottle of nice high grade I stole from Dad, an' a promise of doin' 'im a favor if 'e ever needed one, even if I thought I'd never be able te 'elp 'im with anythin'. But when 'e developed a racin' 'abit 'e couldn' afford a few years later, turns out I actually could. I set 'im up with Hide."

_So he recruited Knock Out._

_Well, there's a lot of ways mechs can wind up here, that's for sure._

_Apparently._

Crosshairs flicks through stepping out from his upgrade to his adult frame, looking in the mirror and finding himself good enough for seducing mechs. The celebration later that night in a club, drunk as a petroskunk, dancing on the bar, and shouting to the crowd that he is sealed if anyone is interested in ridding him of that. The following orgy with five mechs he doesn't know the designations of.

"Ah, 'ere it is."

The next memory starts, and Barricade recognizes the signs of Crosshairs being high as a Shuttle. It's broad daylight, and he's on his back on a lawn, so it's obvious that he's in some fancy neighborhood. Someone is stroking his interface plate, and it feels so good, but he needs more.

"Come on, _please_! Why can' ye fuck me?" He whines, grinding against the servo.

"Because we're in the middle of the park, and people are already staring. Let's go to your place." Vortex says.

Whirl and Vortex helps him to his pedes, and it's needed, because he's so intoxicated. Crosshairs still manages to grab the bottle of high grade, and he clutches it in his servo, even as the two Helicopters put his arms over their shoulders to help him walk. They're unsteady themselves, but better off than him, at least.

The walk derails into make out- and heavy petting sessions at several points, but they're making progress towards Crosshairs's house. He tries to remember if his Sire or his brother is at home, but can't, and decides that they should do this in the pool house.

"Oh, scrap!" Whirl blurts "Enforcers. We need to split up and shake them!"

Both the Helos take to the sky, and Crosshairs tries to initiate his transformation sequence, but he's too drunk to remember how, and winds up flapping his plating uselessly. The Enforcers pull up, transforming, and Crosshairs turns and bolts. He manages eight and a half step, then he's tackled to the ground.

"Not so fast, Crosshairs. We need to go back to the station and have a chat. We've had a whole bunch of complaints about you."

He's cuffed, hoisted to his pedes, and frisked, and they find his astro-weed, the boosters, and the routers, as well as the knife he's carrying these days because all his friends does, and he feels cool with it in his subspace pocket.

"Really need a chat."

The transport pulls up and he's pushed into it. It's a familiar trip by now, sitting in the back seat, going to the Enforcer station. He offlines his optics and rests his helm against the back rest. 

_He could've been sandwiched between two Helicopters by now if these bores hadn't caught him._


	184. Chapter 184

He's embarrassed about purging in the transport, but the combination of syk, high grade, and a moving vehicle was too much at once. They dump him in the interrogation room, cuffed to the table, while they book him. Crosshairs leans his helm against the cool table, feeling nauseous, tired, and he needs to void his tank too. It seems like forever before they come back.

"I need te go te the maintenance room."

"We need to ask you a few questions first."

"Aw, come _on_!" Crosshairs groans.

"The drugs in your subspace; where did you get them?"

"Don' remember." They've done this dance before, and his Sire always bails him out and puts a lid on it. The Enforcers could spare their precious time and just call his Sire, so he can go home and sleep it off. He squirms in his chair. "Come on, mech, lemme go te the maintenance room."

"The quicker you answer the questions, the quicker you'll get there. Drugs and knife; where did you get those? The model of knife you carried is illegal. Telling me will help your case."

"I don' know where i' came from! Someone must've put it in my pockets when I was recharging."

The Enforcer snorts. "Why would anyone do that?"

"I don' know. Te get rid of evidence? Te frame me?" Crosshairs lets his optics roam the Enforcers frame before making optic contact. He bites his lip and cocks an optical ridge suggestively. "Te thank me fer a good night? Ye know, I've never done i' with an Enforcer before..." He purrs, sticking his chest out.

The cop frowns, looking mildly disgusted.

"Ye can' prove those things are mine, so jus' call Dad, an' le' me go void my tank." 

Crosshairs tries to not show how desperate he's getting, because he will start leaking soon, and if the Enforcer knows that, they will definitely keep using it as leverage. He doesn't want to confess and get his friends into trouble, but he's definitely not going to piss himself here. He squirms, pressing his legs together. 

_Maybe the cop would get off on seeing him wet himself? It wouldn't surprise him. Gross turbopig._

"Just the fact that they were in your possession is enough. But let's take a walk to the maintenance room. Your optics are bright in a way that tells me that you have more than just high grade in your systems, so I think we should do a drug test."

"Whatever." 

_His Sire always makes the accusations go away anyway._


	185. Chapter 185

"Ye goin' te watch me do this? What, ye get off on seein' others takin' a piss or wha'?"

"Yes, I am going to watch you, and no, in a perfect world, I would never have to witness that. But I don't trust you to actually leave the sample otherwise, so just deal with it. If you don't like it, then maybe you should try obeying the laws."

_Bah_.

He manages to collect some in the cup he has been given, and it is a messy business, because he was getting so full, he just can't stop when his waste valve opens the second he sits down in the chute. Crosshairs gags, because it's gross when the hot fluid dribbles over his digits, and his tank is already in upheaval from the high grade, and the drugs slowly leaving his systems. He hands the cup to the Enforcer, and is silently jealous of the gloves the mech got for this. At least he is allowed to wash his servos afterwards.

Crosshairs is escorted back to the holding cell while the test is processed, and on the way there, they stop by the comm unit to let him have his one call. It takes a while before his Sire picks up, and for long moments, Crosshairs is worried that his Sire might not be in his office, and he should've made a point to remember where he is, so he could call the right place. Then finally the screen flicks to show a picture of his Sire.

"'ey, Dad. I'm at the police station. Could ye come bail me out?"

His Sire looks thunderous, just like all the other times Crosshairs has made this call, but then his optics dim. "I'll come in later. I have some _important_ things to attend to first."

"K, thanks."

He's put in the holding cell, and he finds a seat. A huge truck former is looking him up and down hungrily, but Crosshairs doesn't feel like flirting, because he's starting to feel more hung over than intoxicated, and it's a very unsexy feeling. 

_It's not like he could act on it here anyway. _

It takes hours for his Sire to show up, and Crosshairs is fighting the urge to puke again, really longing for his berth, and a pain rerouter for his helmache. He immediately gets up from his seat when his Sire shows up at the reception, visible through the glass that separates it from the holding cell area, but it takes longer than it usually does before someone comes to get him. 

His chronometer tells him it's over an hour before one of the Enforcers lets him out of the holding cell, but then he ushers Crosshairs into the interrogation room again. Crosshairs wonders why, because this is definitely not the standard procedure. He's cuffed to the table again, and it takes a few more minutes before his Sire is let inside.

"What's goin' on, Dad?"

"Apparently, you're going to prison."


	186. Chapter 186

"Wha'?! _Why_?! Can' ye ge' me outta here?!"

His spark speeds up, and his entire frame feels cold with a dread he has never experienced before.

"I've had it. I'm _done_. I've bailed you out time and again, and it leads to _nothing_. I'm not doing it again. I _can_ get you out, but I'm not going to." His Sire says venomously.

"Tha's no' _fair_! Ye could've warned me first, ye can' jus' ditch me 'ere..."

"_Warned_ you?!" His Sire snarls. "Because the numerous apprehensions by the Enforcers aren't warning enough?! Are you really that stupid?!"

"Come on, Dad, don' do this! Jus' give me one more chance, I'll behave! I'll make it up te ye, jus' ge' me out. _Please_, I know ye're serious now, I'll do better."

"It's too late. You've been kicked out of school, you're too stupid to even try to graduate with the online classes I signed you up for, and I know that you're not sealed, so I can't arrange a respectable bonding for you. I don't want you in my house anymore, you're a disgrace. A filthy harlot. You disgust me."

"So ye're lettin' me go te prison?" He says weakly, knees feeling like rubber.

"You're a grown up now, Crosshairs. Face the consequences of your actions. I won't pay for a lawyer; you'll get a public defender — just like those lowlifes you like to hang out with would — and if you're found guilty, you'll get your fair punishment."

"Do ye know wha' they do te pretty li'l mechs like me in prison?" His voice sounds hoarse and hollow_._

_He's not a very big mech, and he's not a fighter either. They'll do what they want, and he won't be able to stop them._

"Yes. So I guess you'll like it there, you easy little slut."

_It'll be like with Dirge all over again_.

"I'll die in there."

_There's no chance he'll make it out of there._

"Good riddance."

It's like a kick in the ventral plating, and he feels his lip-plates tremble, but he manages to keep from crying. His voice wavers when he speaks again, making a last ditch attempt to appeal to his Sire to help him out this time too.

_Just this last time. He'll do better now that he knows that his Sire won't help him._

"Wha' about the publicity? Ye can' 'ave a kid in jail. The scandal..."

"You're not my kid anymore, I've disowned you. It has been in motion for some time — the bureaucracy tends to be slow — but I managed to get them to rush the appeal now that you messed up yet again. I finished the paperwork before I got here, there's nothing that ties you to me. You have no registered creators anymore, as if you were an MTO."

"Wha'?!" 

"Don't come to my house again. You're a nobody, and you're not welcome." 

His Sire turns to leave, and Crosshairs starts to yank on the cuffs in panic.

"No! Dad, _wait_! Please, Dad, don' leave me here! Ye can'! _Please_! _Dad_!"

"Goodbye, Crosshairs." His Sire says dismissively over his shoulder, not even slowing down.

The door slams shut, and Crosshairs sinks to his knees in an awkward pose forced by his servos still cuffed to the table, wailing like a sparkling.

_He's going to prison. And even if he doesn't — if he gets an ankle bracelet instead — he'll be a homeless MTO with no credits, no job, and no skills._

The Enforcer pats him on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for you, kid. You may deserve the punishment for your crimes, but you didn't deserve _that_. I wish you had listened when we tried to talk to you when you were younger."

The cop's field is laced with sincere pity, but it doesn't do anything to comfort Crosshairs.

_He's so screwed._


	187. Chapter 187

"Of course I went te prison. Was put in a cell with three small bots, the nerds of the joint who were always bullied. At least I dared rechargin', bu' I was terrified durin' the days. One o' the others go' raped in the washracks an' sent te the medbay jus' a few days after I got in there, an I knew I 'ad te find other friends, because 'alf the ward was starin' at me like I was a pack o' treats. So I hung out in the corner o' the yard, scoutin' for who'd be a good ally." 

Crosshairs tells Barricade as he's scrolling his timeline for the next memory. Then he finds it and Barricade is standing in the corner of the yard he never got to see while he was in prison.

Crosshairs has been evaluating his options for a few days, and he has noticed the different groups, mapped out who leads them, and their interactions. It's all a wild gamble, because he doesn't know how they will react — or if one group is really better than the others — but if he doesn't want to become the next victim of a gang rape in the washracks, he better get some friends who doesn't have alt modes like data pads, cleaning drones, and memory sticks.

With his spark in his throat, he walks towards the table with a crowd of big brutes. A huge Helo he hasn't seen before comes into the yard and walks over to them too, and Crosshairs momentarily stops, watching as the others get up, greeting the Rotary mech in succession with clasped servos and a one armed hug.

"Welcome back, brother. You healing up well?"

"Yeah, it's all good. Got the lines patched and a couple of mounting brackets straightened out. Then they just kept me to monitor the healing. You sorted it out?"

"They were worse off than you when the dust settled, you fought well. They should've known better than to try to drop you, even if they were three against one. The politics have been handled."

They all take their seats again, but Crosshairs lingers, momentarily losing his nerve, and it's enough for them to catch him staring.

"What?" The mech who seems to be their leader snarls, icy blue optics locking on him, all sharp hostility.

Crosshairs swallows nervously, but then he straightens his back and takes a deep vent to steel himself.

"Just admirin' the view." He says saucily, plastering on a smirk. "So, are ye up fer some fun? 'cause I'm definitely the best lay ye'll get in 'ere." He tries to purr seductively even if his spark is spinning out of control.

The mech looks him up and down skeptically. "Are you even upgraded to a frame with the proper equipment?"

"Didn't know they're sending the jailbait _into_ the prison these days, Hide. Maybe they're looking to keep us in here with additional charges of statutory?" The Helo says, earning a round of laughter from the gathered mechs.

_It's offensive, they're belittling him and thinking that he's a kid._

"Oi! This is my _adult_ frame!" It's more of a pout than a snarl, because they're still big, he's alone, and they're definitely dangerous. "I wouldn' be in 'ere if I wasn' an adult, I'd be in juvie."

"What makes you want to be our bitch?" Hide asks.

_"Our bitch", not "my bitch"? That was not what he planned!_

"I-I... I thought I could be yer conjux fer the stay? Ye keep me from windin' up deactivated, or damaged an 'urt, an' I'll keep ye really 'appy?"

Hide snorts. "You know, being my 'conjux' entails being all our little bitch, and being our bitch means that we do what we want and you shut up and take it." He crosses his arms, reclining against the wall, cocking an optical ridge in challenge.

_It doesn't sound very promising, but he's certain that he will be hurt one way or the other anyway, and hopefully, they won't damage him too badly._

"Ye get te 'ave me as ye please, an ye don' let anyone _else_ 'urt me?"

Hide looks him up and down again — they all do — and then he smirks slowly. 

"I guess we could take you for a test ride, see if you're worth the trouble. We have the washracks at 1400h. Be there."


	188. Chapter 188

His spark is doing nervous backflips when he enters the washracks. They're all there, waiting for him, and he feels small and vulnerable, and insecure in a way he hasn't been around interfacing before. He still folds away his panels and stands stiffly in the middle of the room, waiting for them to initiate something. Hide walks a slow circle around him, lecherous optics roving Crosshairs's frame.

"You do have a sweet little frame." Hide says, pressing up against Crosshairs's back.

A servo slides down his front to his array, and a digit is pushed into him. Ironhide groans and starts to pump his digit. The finger slides slickly into him, because Crosshairs did finger himself before coming here, getting himself ready, in case they'd just want to shove inside and take him.

"Wet already. Such a horny little slut."

Crosshairs is still nervous, but the appreciative comment makes him relax a little, and being called a slut is kind of arousing, as is the way bright optics are locked on them, the hard spikes waiting for their turn with him. One of them is keeping optic contact with Crosshairs while stroking his spike.

_They all want him._

"Yeh, so please don' keep me waitin'!" He mewls wantonly, arching his back to grind his aft against Hide.

Hide doesn't. He urges Crosshairs to get on all fours, flips his coat to the side, and then he slams inside immediately, his grip on Crosshairs's hips denting.

"Fuck, it has been way too long." He grunts, setting a fast pace. "Springer, try his mouth!"

The mech who has been stroking himself comes up to them, holding his spike out, and Crosshairs reaches up, steadying himself with his servos on the mech's hips, and without breaking optic contact, he sucks the spike into his mouth as deep as he can, working it with his glossa.

"Damn, he is _good_ at this!" Springer grunts, putting his servo on Crosshairs's helm.

The praise makes him relax more, the nervousness ebbing away, and Crosshairs can finally appreciate the situation he's in; two hot mechs fucking him good, three more who wants him, waiting for their turn.

_He's such a bad little slut, taking all the cock he can get._

Crosshairs reaches between his legs, rubbing his node with his digits, and he moans around the spike in his intake.

"Damn, Hide, he really is a horny little slut, he actually likes it." Someone in the audience says appreciatively.

Hide's only answer is a wordless grunt, then he slams in deep as he overloads.


	189. Chapter 189

"You have a go, Blackout." Ironhide says as he stands up.

Crosshairs is still sucking Springer's spike, and he shudders in anticipation as the big Helo, sinks to his knees behind him.

"This is gonna be a tight fit." Blackout rumbles, then he pushes inside without preamble.

It really is a tight fit, and Crosshairs squirms, more full than he ever has been before. The massive spike presses against all his inside nodes, and he whines around the cock in his mouth, because it's bordering on too much but somehow it's still quite pleasurable. Then Blackout starts to move, long, langorous thrusts that hit everything inside him, and he overloads so hard his optical feed goes pixelated for a while. Springer pushes in deeper and shoots his load down Crosshairs's throat, then he steps back. Crosshairs braces his elbows against the floor, feeling spent, but Blackout is still pounding into him, and two mechs have not had their go yet.

"Hey Roadbuster, you gonna try his mouth, or are you waiting for something else?" Someone snickers.

"He has a really nice intake." Springer says.

"Might as well give it a go then." The mech called Roadbuster says, sinking to his knees in front of Crosshairs.

He sucks this spike into his intake too, as eagerly as the first one, and then he's caught in a push and pull between the mechs as they fuck him. Crosshairs reaches between his legs, circling his node with a digit, because his charge is rising again, and the audience snickers.

"Sure is eager, think we should keep him, boss." Springer says.

Crosshairs mewls and shudders his way through another overload, valve clenching around the massive spike inside him, and it pulls Blackout over the edge. With a groan, the Helo overloads, then he pulls out and backs away.

"Your turn, Moto."

"I'll wait until he's done. You know what I want, and I don't want him to accidentally bite Roadie."

"Thanks, bro." Roadbuster grinds out, rutting into Crosshairs's intake.

Roadbuster overloads, his transfluid being pushed out around his spike as he keeps fucking Crosshairs's mouth, then he pulls out, the last spurts of transfluid landing across Crosshairs's face-plates. He curls his arms, resting his helm against the floor, feeling worn out in that good way fucking makes him feel; almost as if he was on a mild rerouter or something. The last mech kneels behind him, and Crosshairs hears the sound of a bottle being opened, and the slick slide of a servo against a spike.

"Can't get ahold of lube here, so hydraulic fluid will have to do."

The blunt head of a thick spike presses against his port.

"This is a dealbreaker, if you can't take this, we're not keeping you." The mech says.

Crosshairs grimaces when the thick spike is slowly pushed inside him, big servos grabbing his hips for leverage as soon as the head is inside him and the mech doesn't need to steer anymore. He squirms a little, fingers scrabbling over the tiles as the thick spike slides deeper and deeper, biting his lip-plate to try to stifle a whine, but he doesn't complain.

"Yeah, I like it when you squirm in discomfort and still take it." The mech hisses, field sticky with arousal. "A good little slut, putting your own comfort second to my pleasure, taking it in your tight little ass."

The dirty talk is turning him on, and Crosshairs squirms again, this time to get some friction against his node. His valve-lips are starting to feel heavy again, and he gasps when the mech behind him rolls his hips and hits that spot inside him.

"Will you overload for me? Will you cum from me fucking you in the ass?"

"I-I might need te rub my node..."

"Then go ahead. We want to see you overload with a cock up your ass, like the needy little bitch you are."

There's no hesitation when he reaches between his legs and starts to rub his node again, his charge rising surprisingly quickly even after his previous overloads. He moans with every thrust, relishing every slide of the thick spike in his port — undoubtedly the biggest one he has ever taken.

_He's such a bad little slut, being fucked in every way, enjoying to be their little toy._


	190. Chapter 190

"Hey, Motormaster! Wanna share?" Springer asks.

A strong arm winding around Crosshairs's chest, lifting him up to kneel in front of Motormaster is the only answer, and then Springer kneels in front of him. The big mechs lift him, rearranging him so that his legs are hooked over Springer's arms, his back braced against Motormasters chest, and then Motormaster slips into his ass again, Springer pushing into his valve. Crosshairs has done a whole lot of interesting things in the berth, but he has never felt so completely at someone's mercy before. They're in control, and all he can do is let them continue.

Not that he would ever complain, the way they both thrust into him is simply glorious. Motormaster claps a servo over his intake, because apparently, he is getting loud. Crosshairs squirms around, getting close to overload, but it's eluding him, spent as his frame is, and he wails in frustration into the servo. He hears the snickers from the audience, and his optics flick to the mechs watching with bright optics.

It's what tips him over the edge, frame bucking wildly as he clamps down around the spikes inside him. Both the thugs groan, but their rhythm doesn't falter, they keep pounding into him even as he goes limp and strutless between them.

Motormaster comes first, and he slams in deep, keeping still inside Crosshairs while he spills his transfluid, then Spinger does the same moments later. Springer pulls out first, stepping back, and Motormaster slides his arms uner Crosshairs legs to keep him suspended in the awkward pose, his dribbling valve on display for everyone.

"Hey, watch this." Motormaster snickers, then he pulls out.

The spike slips out, followed by a rush of transfluid, and if Crosshiars wasn't so completely spent, he might've found it humiliating in that way that he finds a bit exciting when the others snicker. Blackout walks over, kneeling in front of them, thick spike in one of his servos. He looks down at Crosshairs's array and port, reaching for it with his other hand, then his optics flick up to meet Crosshairs's, and he smirks.

"You can't feel this, can you?"

Crosshairs frowns and shakes his helm, looking down.

"You're so loose, I can stick my digit in there without actually touching you."

Crosshairs's optics snap up to meet Blackout's again.

"If you take Hide up on the offer, you'll take this little baby back there too." Blackot pumps his spike with his servo a few times for emphasis, and it's such a massive piece of equipment. "Lick it. I still have a bit of a load left in me."

He holds his spike out for Crosshairs, and the Corvette leans forward, lapping at the head.

"Yeah, that's it. Just like that."

It doesn't take many strokes with his glossa before the Helo overloads, transfluid shooting over his glossa and face-plates.

"I like that look on you."

Motormaster lets him slip to the floor, and Crosshairs goes limp and strutless, too spent to stand.

"Lets wash up and get out of here." Ironhide says, nudging Crosshairs with his pede.

"'m too tired, ye rode me too good." Crosshairs mumbles.

Someone snickers. "You don't want anyone else finding you here like this."

Ironhide slings him over his shoulder and carries him to one of the overhead shower heads. He starts the water and puts Crosshairs down, steadying him. "Lets get this done, shall we? We don't want the guards to see this." 

Crosshairs leans against the wall, still too tired to actually comply. Blackout and Roadbuster grabs sponges and starts to scrub his frame while Ironhide holds him up with big servos under his arms. It's kind of ridiculous, as if he was a sparkling, but his knees wants to give out, and he just wants to fall into recharge. Servos grope him and cop feels while they wash him, but he really doesn't mind.

"Done."

Ironhide rearranges him, folds him over one of his strong arms, and he hangs there, aft on display, wondering what now, but too spent to do anything about it.

"Here." Springer says to catch his attention, holding his servo out to show Crosshairs something. It looks like a condom stuffed with things. "Painkillers, in case you have trouble sitting down tomorrow, and a little bottle of high grade as thanks for the test drive."

He steps up behind Crosshairs, and then something pushes against Crosshairs sore port.

"He's tightening up, but he's too slow. It's just going to fall out."

"If you get the bottle in sideways it won't."

Someone cackles.

"No, give me that. Like this."

Crosshairs squirms, because it feels decidedly uncomfortable when the thing settles inside him.

"For fucks sake." Someone snickers.

"Hey, at least it isn't falling out now!"

"He's still drooling cum and hydraulic fluid, his fragging panel is going to leak."

"Stick a sponge in there." Ironhide says, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

There's more fiddling with his ass, and quiet laughter, and then finally they're done. He dredges up enough energy to stand of his own accord.

"From now on, I'll call you Sponge-Cross Cum panel." Roadbuster laughs.

Crosshairs flips him off and immediately regrets it, because they could take that very badly. Nobody seem to care, though, and he slowly relaxes.

"If you're still interested in being our conjux, request a transfer to my cell. Say that you're affiliated with the Autobots, and that you are not safe anywhere else. They tend to try to make it easy for themselves to not have corpses turning up at every corner, so a request like that usually goes through." Ironhide says, and then he leaves without waiting for an answer.

"I'm looking forward to our wedding night." Blackout rumbles, optics roaming Crosshairs's frame, before he follows the others out of the washracks.

Crosshairs reaches back to check his port, and there is indeed a sponge sticking out of there. Then he hurries back to his cell to get the things out of him, hoping his cellmates are not there.


	191. Chapter 191

"They were such assholes!" Barricade says vehemently, hoping that Crosshairs didn't take them up on the offer, even if he's pretty sure that Crosshairs did.

"Nah, they were jus' bored, an' 'ad been locked up for a pretty long time when I offered myself. Of course they'd 'ave their fun." Crosshairs says, shrugging, as if that excuses their behavior.

"Yeah, but still... Did you really go along with it? The deal, I mean"

"I did. I'll admit, I didn' exactly know what I was doin'. I was scared, because unaffiliated mechs like me got raped, an' shivved, and crap like tha', an' I didn' know them, or anythin' 'bout survivin' prison. Sure, it was one 'ell of a test drive, but I go' painkillers, an' high grade, an' tha' pointed te at least some level of care. They didn' damage me, so I put in the request, an' 'oped I was right when I guessed tha' they wouldn' want their new cellmate te turn up in the medbay, an' the guards startin' te investigate."

"Couldn't you've been put in segregation for your own protection or something? I mean, being upperclass, some mechs would be out for your energon just for that. Sounds horrible that you had to let yourself be their toy just to stay safe."

"I was stripped of my status, remember? On the papers, I'm an MTO." Crosshairs sad smile turns into a smirk. "B'sides, I already was a randy li'l slut, an gettin' five ho' lovers was more temptin' than bein' stuck in isolation. Ugh, I don' wanna think about bein' stuck with only my servos te keep me satisfied."

Barricade cannot relate at all, except for not liking to be locked up alone.

"Yeah, but still. They were so gross about the way they handled you."

"Ye need te think 'bout the situation we were in. They 'ad reputations te maintain, an I might've backed out of it and gone blabberin' about them bein' soft or somethin'. An sometimes, just bein' in a group goads them inta bein' extra rough an' stuff. Most of 'em aren't like that all the time, every time we fuck. They're still off the assembly line War frames, though. Morality an' empathy typically isn' part of the standard issue programming."

It's still a horrible excuse for them to treat Crosshairs like that, and potentially a very worrying reveal about the emotional protocols of the brothers. Barricade has never learned much about War frames, or the potential difference between MTOs and sparked War frames, because Enforcement would treat them the same way as any other mech, and MTOs were mostly handled internally in the military when Barricade was still on the force. It's intriguing, and he really needs to research it later. Still, Barricade is very curious about a whole lot of other things too.

"Did all of you share one cell?"

_The cells weren't that big were they? And if they were, how the hell did Crosshairs get through his time in there without being fucked to pieces?_

"Nah. Hide, Blackout, Springer an' I shared one. Roadbuster an' Motormaster was in another one with a couple of unaffiliated mechs. So I fucked Roadie an' Moto in the washracks, or in our cell in the days when we were let out, and the other three, I fucked during the nights. Well, mostly i' was like tha'."

_Barricade nods slowly. It's both fascinating and gross, and there's so many things he's curious about that he doesn't dare to ask, because it feels so intrusive. Like if Crosshairs didn't get sore, and what happened if he was tired. There is one thing he just has to know, though..._

"How did the wedding night go?"

"I've never been so thoroughly fucked in all my functioning, I could 'ardly walk fer days! All three of them fragged all my 'oles, and' Blackout an' Hide gave me an extra round each. Then in the mornin' when the cells were unlocked, Motormaster an' Roadbuster came over an did the same. An' then I was fully accepted as their li'l bitch, an' I was so proud tha' I made it."

_What a mess._

_And still you're wishing he'd show you those memories._

...

"But how did you get through it the next night? I mean, with the soreness and all."

"They're nice mechs. I go' painkillers, an' I didn' need te do more than give 'em 'ead the next night."

_Ugh. "Nice" indeed..._


	192. Chapter 192

"Ye really wanna see it, don' ye?" Crosshairs asks, sounding smug.

"I-I... You don't need to tell me if you don't want to! I mean... I... I just can't believe you made it through that night in one piece..." Barricade stammers, flushing, because he feels so busted.

"I's alright! I's kind of a ho' show, really." 

There's so many things with that statement that's just wrong, because it's a business transaction, and Crosshairs's state of mind makes even given consent dubious at best, and it sure isn't a _show_...

_It's intriguing, and enlightening regarding the social structure, and..._

_Just fucking admit that you want to see cock meet pussy, mouth and ass..._

_Shut up._

_Hehe..._

Then it's suddenly too late to back out, because Crosshairs has found the relevant memories while Barricade was arguing with himself, and he's submerged in them.

He's sitting on the berth in his cell when a guard walks in. It's past curfew, and everyone is locked in their cells.

"Pack your stuff. Your transfer was approved, and it's time for you to move."

He doesn't have any stuff; he has no money from the outside to spend in the commissary, and nothing from the outside — not that he had anything legal in his subspace when he was arrested anyway — would be allowed to be kept.

"I'm ready te go." He says, rising from his berth without gathering any things.

The guard looks him up and down, and then his optics sweep the cell.

"Ye know, they wouldn' let me bring my Syk..." Crosshairs says sarcastically, even if he knows it's probably not a good idea.

The guard's intake pulls into a sneer, but Crosshairs just waits by the door.

"Alright. You requested a transfer to a cell with _'Autobots'_ to whom you claim to have ties."

"I did."

"Let's get you there then. I hope you know what you're doing." The mech says, ushering Crosshairs into the corridor.

"I'm goin' te a place where I'll be safe, with my crew."

"Yeah, because you fit in _so_ well with the MTO War frames. Totally your crew."

"Ye'd be surprised..."

The guard snorts. "Hardly. I've worked here long enough to have seen it all, and then some more. Mechs tend to stick to their own kind in here. And _you,_" his optics sweep Crosshairs frame, "you just don't fit in with their kind, pretty bot."

"Whatever ye say..." Crosshairs says, giving up the discussion. 

_It's not like it matters if the mech suspects that he didn't know the Autobots before this. The transfer was approved, and this guard won't change that._

They stop outside a different cell, and the guard opens the door. 

"Your new cell mate has arrived."

Crosshairs looks past the mech and sees Springer, Blackout, and Ironhide reclining on their berths. They all look up, but none of them say anything, and Crosshairs's spark makes a nervous flip.

_This is it, no going back now. Is he really doing the smartest thing? He knows what they can do in under an hour — how tired and sore he was after the test drive — and now he'll be locked inside with them all night._

"What are you waiting for? Get in there." The guard says challengingly, as if he knows why Crosshairs is hesitating.

He slowly steps over the threshold, feeling the hungry optics of the residents on him, roving his plating.

"Have fun." The guard leers.

Then the door slams shut behind him, and he's alone with three huge War frames.


	193. Chapter 193

Crosshairs stands there, suddenly awkward and very insecure. They're all looking him up and down, but nobody says anything, and he is forced to bite back a nervous cackle that's threatening to break free from his vocalizer. He can't even muster up some fake bravado, and it's unfamiliar to be so insecure when it comes to something as simple as interfacing.

_Get a grip. You've done this a thousand times. They're starved of interfacing, it's not like you'll need to do much to impress them._

"Uhm, hi? So... 'ere I am." He says, and immediately feels ridiculous.

Ironhide cocks an optical ridge. "Indeed. So how about you get over here?" He says, patting his lap.

Crosshairs knees feel like rubber when he takes the few steps to reach the thug's berth, but he still manages to move pretty smoothly when he straddles Hide's thighs. Ironhide's optics slowly trail down Crosshairs's front, and there's a decidedly satisfied little smirk pulling on the corners of his intake. Big servos slide up Crosshairs's thighs, thumbs dipping into the juncture of his hips, before one servo reaches for his modesty panel. Ironhide immediately finds the latches, nimbly flicking them open, and pushing the panel out of the way, digits slipping through dry folds.

"Like a desert." He rumbles.

"Yeh, I... I wasn' prepared when I was picked up fer transfer. An' I'm a li'l nervous." He admits.

Ironhide starts circling Crosshairs's anterior node with his thumb, pushing one digit into Crosshairs's valve, curling it to hit that spot in there.

"Nothing to be nervous about. We're just going to fuck you, and I know you both can and want to take it. That you like it."

Crosshairs's valve is going slick and hot with Ironhide's ministrations. Hide's really good with his digits, and it does help Crosshairs to relax.

He has been fingered before, but Hide is better than any of his previous lovers. The big mech doesn't seem to be in a rush, and that's a novelty, because mostly, his lovers want to get inside him as quickly as possible — only cares to get him just slick enough to avoid chafing — but Ironhide is still mapping out Crosshairs's array, even as lubricant is starting to cover his servo, showing no signs of hurrying things along. _Then again, they do have a lot of time on their servos here..._

Crosshairs's charge is rising quickly, and his hips are starting to move against the servo of their own accord.

"_Please_, I wan' ye in me!" He moans, wanting more, something thicker.

"Is that so?"

"_Yes_, I wan' yer thick spike."

"Much obliged." Ironhide rumbles, grabbing Crosshairs hips and pulling him forward, pressurizing his spike straight into Crosshairs's valve.


	194. Chapter 194

Ironhide slides down a bit from where he's lounging against the wall — planting his pedes on the floor, shoulders and helm still leaning against the wall — and he guides Crosshairs to rock back and forth. Crosshairs has never tried that before, but it's quickly turning this into the best ride he has ever taken.

The way that thick spike fills him up, stirring inside him to hit every node, and his anterior node rubbing against Ironhide's pelvic plating is simply glorious, and lubricant is drooling out around Ironhide's spike. Ironhide bucks up to help him get even more friction against his node.

"Damn, you're getting wet."

"So good! Yes!" Crosshairs pants, grinding desperately against Hide.

_Fucking hell, why have he never tried this before? Why has he always been bouncing up and down in that not-as-good-as-this way? Yeah, he'll happily ride this spike at every opportunity for the rest of his functioning._

"He warmed up pretty fast, Prez. A greedy little slut after all." One of the others snicker, Crosshairs can't focus enough to figure out who.

"Warm, wet and needy. Doesn't get much better than that." Ironhide grunts. "Hop off. I want you on your back." He says to Crosshairs, patting his hip.

It's not that Crosshairs really wants to stop this, because he was getting close, and it really is one of his best interfacing experiences so far. Definitely top three. Maybe even the best ever, but he needs time to think about it with a clear helm to figure that out.

But alas, the ride is over, and Crosshairs knows that he is in no position to protest, so he tips off Ironhide, landing on the berth next to him.

"Fine. But ye better continue fuckin' me this good, because I really liked tha'." He dares pouting.

Ironhide smirks, easily pulling Crosshairs to the center of the berth, kneeling between the smaller mech's thighs. "I think you'll enjoy this too." 

Strong servos wrap around Crosshairs's waist, and he's pulled into Ironhide's lap, shoulders still on the bedding, and he's forced to arch his back.

"Mh, seriously sweet view." Ironhide says, sliding his splayed servo up Crosshairs's ventral plating, up to his chest-plates.

"He sure is easier on the optics than Springer's aft when he bends over." Blackout says.

"Like I would ever let you anywhere near my aft." Springer snorts, throwing a pillow at Blackout.

"Your Carrier didn't complain when..."

"You fucked the conveyor belt I was built on?! I mean, I knew your ugly mug doesn't get you much pussy, but I didn't think you were desperate enough to fuck insentient machinery..."

"Shut up."

They're being dorks, but Crosshairs chances a glance at them, and a shiver of pleasure trickles down his back-struts when he sees the way their bright optics are still locked on him.

Then Ironhide's spike slides into him again, a clever digit circling his node, and he dissolves into incoherency.


	195. Chapter 195

Crosshairs's heels are digging into Ironhide's aft in an attempt to get Ironhide's spike even deeper, and there's a pop-up message in his HUD warning him of the hydraulics in his legs overheating from the strain, but he just can't stop himself from doing it.

Not when he's teetering on the edge, so close to overload, and still it eludes him when Ironhide's digit on his node eases up on the stimulation yet again. 

"Don' fuckin' _stop!"_ He growls in frustration.

_More like desperation, he's definitely not used to someone teasing him like this, bringing him to the brink, just to deny him. _

"_Please!_"

_Maybe begging will work better? _

Ironhide cocks his helm, smirking at him. "You know, it's not like I can move much really..." He wiggles his hips to emphasize the way Crosshairs is more or less glued to him. "And while you would doubtlessly overload if I just did this a couple of times," a flick against Crosshairs's node makes the smaller mech jerk as if shocked, moaning loudly, "it wouldn't do it for me. Don't you think that would be kind of rude of you? I mean, the way you're clinging to me, I can't even move to take my own pleasure."

"It's generally considered bad form for a bitch to not even return the favor." Springer adds his opinion.

_He didn't even think about that, he was so preoccupied with what Hide has been doing to his frame, the way he has been brought close several times just for the mech to back off in that frustratingly smug way._

"I-I..." Crosshairs struggles to put together an excuse. "I'm no' used te goin' fer this long?" It's a lame fucking excuse, and he knows it, but he's used to less finesse, and hurrying to even get to overload before his lover would shoot his load. Stamina is not something he's used to. 

Ironhide barks a surprised laugh. "Well, then this is going to be a long fucking night for you." He easily pries Crosshairs's legs from around him, showing how much brute strength there is in his frame. "Face in the pillow, aft up, so you can't hinder me anymore. I promise I'll let you cum. When it suits me."

Crosshairs has no time to protest before he's flipped over on his front, hips hiked up, and his arms held behind his back with one servo around his wrist-struts. His spark speeds up, because the position makes it impossible to deny that he really is completely helpless.

He squeaks when a digit prods his port.

"You've tightened up since the last time." Ironhide notes.

Crosshairs feels his face-plates flush, and he squirms in embarrassment.

_He isn't used to his lovers saying those things _to_ him — just _about_ him — and it's both embarrassing, and arousing._

"We'll rectify that tonight." 

It sounds as if it's Blackout who says it, then there's the clang of a high five, and Ironhide rumbles a laugh. Crosshairs's valve clenches needily around nothing, and he whines into the pillow, mortified of his own nervous anticipation.

_They're just getting started._


	196. Chapter 196

Ironhide's spike finally slip into his valve again, and Crosshairs moans into the pillow, a shiver of pleasure traveling up his back-struts.

"Fucking hell, you feel so good around me." Ironhide groans, starting to pound into Crosshairs with, long, hard thrusts. "Just listen to how wet you are, you needy little slut; all soaking wet and revved up."

_Oh, the sounds are absolutely mortifying — downright obscene — as is the way his lubricant is actually dribbling down his legs, welling out every time Ironhide pulls out. It's such a turn on to be such a needy, wet, bad little slut, spreading his legs for an MTO brute. _

Ironhide reaches around and starts to circle Crosshairs's node with light touches; enough to slowly built his already ramped up charge, but not enough to bring him over quickly.

"Maybe he's a squirter too? I mean, he's already dripping..." Blackout muses.

"Are you a squirter, little slut?" Springer asks.

Crosshairs is only vaguely familiar with the term, but he can't stop his field from flaring with mortification. Or his valve clenching around Ironhide's spike.

_He's not used to these kinds of discussions. His previous lovers never went into details in this very casual way._

"N-no?" He says, but it's muffled by the pillow, barely comprehensible.

Hide increases the pressure on his node, and Crosshairs squirms in desperation.

_So damned close!_

Blackout groans. "That field..." There's a sound of plating shifting, and then a wet slide that may very well be a servo stroking a spike, already slick with pre-transfluid.

"That field says he may very well be a squirter."

"Yeah, he just doesn't know it yet."

"Definitely is a drooler." Ironhide adds, pulling out.

Crosshairs makes a sound of protest, then Ironhide drags the tips of his digits from the front of Crosshairs's array, over his valve-lips, gathering lubricant in his cupped servo.

"Just look at this!" Ironhide says. 

Crosshairs doesn't even dare to try look what he's doing when the others snicker, because he just knows it'll be mortifying.

"Now that's what I call a puddle! Springer says.

Then Ironhide slams into Crosshairs's valve again, setting a quicker pace, flicking his node just _so_, and Crosshairs is racing towards the edge again.

"Would be rude of me to hog you all night, the others want some sopping wet pussy too..."

Finally, it sends Crosshairs into the hardest overload he has ever had.


	197. Chapter 197

Crosshairs's audials are rebooting, and he's vaguely aware of Ironhide's pelvic plating pressing against his aft, the thick spike inside him pulsing rhythmically.

_Oh, he's overloading too._

The only thing keeping him in the position he's in is a big servo on the front of his pelvic plating — probably repurposed from stimulating his node to keep him in position when the overload wracked his frame — and the servo still holding his wrist-struts. He feels completely fucked out and strutless, in a way he has never been before, not even after several of his lovers have tag-teamed him.

_And this was just the first round. He'll be a puddle before they're done with him._

He giggles dopily into the pillow at the picture his processor conjures up; himself, but completely made of silicone.

Ironhide lets go of him, and he slides down, stretched out on his front.

"...are you alive there, little mech?"

He manages to twist his helm to get his face-plates out of the pillow.

"Yeh. Think 'alf my systems rebooted." He says with a grin.

Ironhide smirks.

"Tha' was the best fuck I've ever 'ad. I mean, no offense 'bout the time in the washracks, but it wasn' like we 'ad much time then."

"_That_ was your best round ever? Primus, what kind of losers have you been fucking?" Ironhide asks.

"I dunno. I though' they were good at the time... But, then I was of'en really drunk, or high, so maybe tha' numbed me?"

"Perhaps..." Ironhide says slowly, and when Crosshairs glances up at him, his face is unreadable. "You'll get more good dick now, though. Blackout looks horny to me."

"Now?! I mean, my valve is still twitchin'. Can' I get a little break?" _He'll be too sensitive, it'll just feel weird._

"I guess I could settle for a blow job right now. Might be good to take the edge off, so that I can go a _really_ long time when I go for your valve. 'cause I _am_ going to fuck you tonight, and you're going to enjoy it."

There's that dirty talk again, the casual way they just tell him what they're going to do with him, and it's arousing, but Crosshairs is just too spent to really get charged. 

_Or move._

"I don' know if I even 'ave the strength to kneel in front of ye."

Blackout's intake pulls into a hungry grin, full of sharp denta. "I think we can manage anyway." He rises from his berth, coming over to Ironhide's berth. Ironhide moves away, taking a seat on Blackout's berth. "On your back little mech. I want so see those pretty lips around my cock."

_And it's a big fucking cock._

Crosshairs manages to roll over, wondering what the big mech is planning, and his spark is speeding up with nerves when Blackout grabs his arms and pulls him closer, all the way to the edge of the berth, and further until Crosshairs's helm hangs over it.

"Just try to relax your throat-tubing. And your jaw hinges."


	198. Chapter 198

"I, uhm, wha're ye goin' te do?"

"Never been deepthroated before?"

"No..."

"Then this'll be interesting. Here's what's going to happen: you open that pretty little intake of yours, and I'll try to fit my entire spike in there."

Crosshairs stares at the massive spike as Blackout kneels to get level with Crosshairs's helm.

_There's no way that's going to fit!_

"I think I can kneel in fron' of ye, actually, 'm gettin' my power back."

"You shouldn't strain yourself, we have a long night in front of us. Just lay back, relax, let me have my fun, and then you'll be rested enough when it's Springer's turn. I'll go slow, let you adjust. It's not like I want to put you out of commission."

Crosshairs swallows nervously, still staring at that thick cock, but then he finally nods and opens his mouth.

_He did take the offer of being their bitch — well informed that they'll do what they want, and he's supposed to shut up and take it — so he can't really complain about them taking their due, especially not when they're being nice about it, and actually telling him what they're going to do, instead of just sticking it wherever they want._

"Slap my hip if you get warnings or reports about damage from your systems."

Blackout pushes forward, the thick head of his spike smearing Crosshairs's lips with pre-transfluid as it slips into his mouth. It slides deeper, all the way to the back of his intake, and Crosshairs's frame does a convulsion when he suppresses the reflex to purge. Blackout stops.

"Just try to relax. Let it in, as if you were trying to swallow it."

"Technically, he is trying to swallow it."

Blackout chuckles, and when Crosshairs momentarily manages to relax his throat tubing, he pushes forward, getting deeper.

It feels weird, but at least it doesn't hurt. He still squirms, not certain he really enjoys it. Blackout cradles his neck with a big servo, and then he starts to slowly move; little rolls of his hips gradually getting him deeper.

"Close your nasal vent and use the others. It'll make it easier." Ironhide instructs him. "So, Blackout, can you see your dick yet?"

"Yeah, that little tube is bulging really nicely."

Springer and Ironhide comes over to them, and while Crosshairs can only see their pedes from his upside down point of view, he knows that they're watching him; splayed out with his array bare and his thighs sticky with cum and lubricant, with a cock deeper down his throat than he has ever taken it before. It's embarrassing, and it turns him on. His valve-lips are starting to feel warm and swollen, and he mewls around the spike in his throat.

"Oh, fucking hell! Do _that_ again!" Blackout groans.

A digit strokes his throat-tubing, following the spike's movements when Blackout slowly fucks him.

_They must see the way the cock moves inside him, as it stretches the tube._

"A real talent."

"That looks so fucking hot, just look at the way he lets that cock in."

Crosshairs hums, and it earns him a grunt from Blackout.

_He's the center of attention, the one who manages to draw those noises from the big Helicopter. He's so good at being bad, and they all want him._

He reaches between his legs, circling his node with one of his digits, and it makes him moan.

"Horny little tramp." Springer snickers in amusement. "Look, Blackout, you make him all hot and bothered!"

"Nothing like a big spike to get a small bitch going."

"Don't you overload now, little slut. You'll get yours when one of us gives it to you." Ironhide warns Crosshairs, and the sharp and commanding edge in his voice sends a thrill down Crosshairs's back-struts.

Blackout is increasing the pace, movements becoming more erratic, and it strains Crosshairs's throat-tubing, but then the big mech pulls out, shooting his load over Crosshairs face.

"Glazed slut!"

They laugh, but Crosshairs doesn't really mind.

_He can take it deep in his throat. And now he's going to get fucked again and earn the overload he wants._


	199. Chapter 199

Springer swipes his digits through the ropes of cum on Crosshairs's face-plates, then he holds his fingers in front of Crosshairs's intake.

Hesitantly — because he isn't certain that he's interpreting the gesture correctly — he sticks his glossa out, lapping at one of Springer's digits.

"Yeah, that's right. Just like that." Springer croons.

Crosshairs sucks the finger into his mouth, encouraged by the bright optics following his actions, the way Springer licks his lip-plates hungrily when he's watching Crosshairs suck his digit.

He cleans that servo thoroughly with his glossa; sucking every finger into his mouth in succession, rolling his tongue around those digits.

"Mh, yeah, a natural talent for sure." Springer murmurs to nobody in particular. "But now I really want my spike to get some attention."

"'ow do ye wan' me?"

"You know, I really enjoyed your mouth — and I will definitely be having it again soon — but right now I'm up for some slippery cunt..."

Crosshairs flushes. "I'm already creamed up. I mean, jus'... Ye know, not pristine."

_Not that he has ever had any second thoughts about being tag-teamed before, but this feels different somehow, because these mechs consider what they want, and they tell him all the details, and it feels like he should give them the same courtesy. And it's arousing to admit that he's a little slut who just spread his legs for someone, and he's going to do it again._

Springer chuckles, and it's kind of a dark sound. "Oh, I'm counting on it. No squeaky clean little virgin would ever give it as good as a well defiled slut can."

He leans forward, servo reaching for Crosshairs's array, and when his digits slip into Crosshairs's supple, wet valve, there's this mortifying squelching sound.

"Just listen to that. So slippery and ready for me, and who would I be to complain about you being slick from having fun with my Prez? Especially since the show was so nice. Do your legs work again?"

"Yes...?"

_Probably. His hydraulics have cooled down by now, and there's no damage reports, so he should be good to go again._

"Good. I want you on your knees and servos."

"Am I allowed te wipe my face first?"

They all smirk a him.

"Well, since you ask so nicely..." Ironhide says, holding out a rag.

"Sad to see it go." Blackout says mournfully when Crosshairs starts to wipe his face clean.

"He isn't yours to mark."

"I know, but it's still a good look on him."

"Agreed. We could all mark him at once." Ironhide muses.

"I'm sure he'll be dripping all of our cum — from everywhere — for days when we're done." Springer adds.

"True."

"So, get on your knees and servos. If you'd be so slutty, please."

_It's not like he has much choice, but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't feel excited about it. Springer's spike is bobbing in the air, looking all tantalizing, and he has had it inside him before, and it was good..._

Crosshairs rolls over as smoothly as he can, turning so that his aft is to the three mechs watching him. He's not confident enough to throw them a meaningful glance over his shoulder, but the thought of them staring at him getting into position makes his valve throb. He flicks his coattails to the side to give them as good a view as he can provide, and then he just waits.

The berth dips when Springer kneels behind him, and Crosshairs shudders in anticipation.

"You have such a sweet little frame, such a lovely aft."

Servos grip his hips, and then he's pulled backwards, getting impaled on the thick spike waiting for his empty valve.

"Swallowed you right away."

"Fucking pit, you feel so good around me!" Springer growls.

"Should've gone for a blowjob first, brother. Now you won't last long."

"The night is still young, and none of us are going anywhere." Ironhide rumbles, voice crackling with static. "I think we'll all be sated when we're done. You will get your fill, you horny little slut, rest assured." He says to Crosshairs, servo slipping around Crosshairs's thigh, reaching for his array to stroke his node.

A mewl leaves the Corvette's vocalizer, because his processor isn't in a state to come up with a witty retort. 

_Not with a good sized dick pounding his valve, and skilled digits teasing his node._

With a moan, he arches his back and spreads his legs wider to give better access, and a good view.

_They all want him so much, think he's sexy, and they're generous with pleasure too. He'll make it worth their while._


	200. Chapter 200

Springer slows down again, but the way his movements stutter, his overload is probably getting harder to hold off. 

Not that it matters for Crosshairs, because Ironhide is still stroking his node, but every time Crosshairs is getting close he backs off in that infuriating manner that seems to be his modus operandi.

"What do you say, Springer? Should I let him overload, or do you think he deserves to wait a little while longer?" Ironhide asks.

"No, _please_, lemme cum!" Crosshairs whines.

He's been so close so many tiy, his valve has contracted in that first quiver of sweet release, just for the stimulation to stop at the last second to abort his pending overload, and his valve is almost aching with the need to release the charge now. 

Ironhide tuts. "_Sir. _'Please, let me cum, _Sir._' You forgot to address me properly. What do you mechs say?"

Springer makes an unintelligible grunt while fucking Crosshairs very slowly.

"Well, usually I'd be all for leaving him high and dry — and giving him a good spanking too for good measure — for his insubordination, but it _is_ his first night after all. Besides, I think his aft will be sore enough anyway tomorrow, when we're done with him..." Blackout voices his opinion.

Crosshairs hips move of their own accord, trying to find some friction by rutting against Ironhide's servo. It's futile; Ironhide easily evades him, and Springer's denting grip on his hips makes it hard to move much anyway. A desperate sob escapes him.

"Please, _Sir!_ Please make me overload, Sir."

_The confusingly arousing pictures in his processor does absolutely nothing to make this easier. As frustrating as it is that Ironhide controls him, denies him much needed release, there's also something arousing about it. And the thought of one of them spanking him really shouldn't be so very interesting..._

"I, wha' do ye wan' me te do? Tell me, so I can do it! Please, Sir!"

_There's something very arousing about deferring to Ironhide. To all of them really, but Ironhide is the one commanding right now, and it's so hot. It's new, because he never really knew he would enjoy being made to obey someone's orders, and it's different from his earlier experiences, because now he can choose to go along with what they do, and before it kind of just happened. There's this part of him that is thrilled with nervous curiosity about what it would be like to disobey._

Then Springer slams in to the hilt, grinding against Crosshairs's aft, and the only thing Ironhide does is teasing Crosshairs's node with featherlight touches, far from enough to make Crosshairs overload. 

He growls in frustration when Springer pulls out, and he's left empty and unsatisfied.

"Oups, I guess you were too slow with asking nicely. I mean, I didn't get enough time to bring you over before Springer came. Better don't delay the good behavior next time." Ironhide says unrepentantly.

Crosshairs bites back the rude answer he wants to growl at the smug bastard.

"Yes, Sir! I'll try 'arder. 'ow do ye wan' me now, Sir." He grinds out.

Ironhide grins. "Blackout? I want him on his knees on the floor. Make sure he doesn't try to sneak an overload without permission.

Blackout's chuckle is wicked. "Absolutely, Prez."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, 200 chapters, and what better way to celebrate than with more smut? :D


	201. Chapter 201

He's lifted from the berth, and Blackout puts him down on his knees in the middle of the floor. His arms are easily wrangled behind his back, and his wrist-struts are trapped in one of Blackout's servos, but Crosshairs dares trying to rub his legs together to get some friction.

_Maybe if he's quick he can steal that overload?_

"None of that. You heard the boss. You get yours when we grant you an overload." Blackout rumbles.

The huge mech nudges Crosshairs's knees farther apart with his pede, and then he kneels between Crosshairs's calves, making it impossible to do anything to try to sneak an overload.

"Nicely done, Blackout. It's like you read my mind." Ironhide says approvingly, coming to stand in front of Crosshairs.

"He's in his rightful place; on his knees for you." Blackout rumbles, squeezing Crosshairs's wrists — not hard enough to make it painful, but certainly enough to demonstrate his strength.

Ironhide smirks at Crosshairs. "You know, Springer looks awfully messy, and only a fraction of it is our jizz. The rest is your lubricant, you wet little slut. Maybe you should help him clean up? Put that talented mouth of yours to good use."

"Will ye make me overload if I do?"

Ironhide barks a surprised laugh. "No. We may let you when we get to you sucking _my_ spike. If you do as we tell you, and you address me properly. And the step towards that is to lick Springer's cock clean."

It's not that he finds it gross that makes him shake his helm.

_It's the embarrassment, both for all of them watching, and — most of all — for being turned on by it. By being so wet that what Ironhide says is true, and by the way his valve clenches at the thought of licking Springer clean with an audience._

"No?" Ironhide bends down to slide his servo up Crosshairs's chest-plates, up his throat. He pauses at the inmate collar, gripping it with his digits to tug at it. "Pretty things like you shouldn't be kept in cages, but I certainly don't mind the way a collar looks on you." He lets go of the collar again and takes a new grip above it, with his digits wrapped around Crosshairs's throat, rubbing little circles into the sensitive components with his thumb. "Seems like you're not really in a position to argue."

Crosshairs swallows, but he can't tell if it's because he's so nervous, or if it's because it's turning him on. His valve throbs heavily.

Ironhide's servo continues up Crosshairs's throat in what is almost a caress, until his index digit nudges Crosshairs's chin to tilt his helm further back, and Ironhide leans closer. Close enough that their lip-plates almost touch when he murmurs the next words.

"Stop playing at being a prude. We know this is turning you on. Your field is quite... _tantalizing_."

Crosshairs feels his face-plates flush when he meets those calculating optics.

"So what's it going to be, little slut?" Ironhide says, tilting his helm in a way that makes him look like a predator.

"I'll clean him, Sir."


	202. Chapter 202

Ironhide grins wickedly and steps to the side, allowing Springer to take his place. Crosshairs spark is spinning with nerves, and he feels his face-plates flush when he looks at the mess on Springer's pelvic plating.

"Go on." Springer says, splaying his servo on the back of Crosshairs's helm.

He leans in to lap at the unpressurized component, tasting the bitter transfluid and a tart, sticky flavor that has to be his own lubricant. He's never done this before, and nobody has ever been interested in him doing anything with their valves. Crosshairs starts to lick with broad strokes of his glossa to clean away the mess.

"Oh, yeah, just like that." Springer groans. "I may actually get hard again, even if I just came, you're so fucking good at this."

It spurs him on, that appreciative comment, and Crosshairs starts to lap at Springer's spike with more fervor. Blackout still is holding his servos behind his back, but the big mech reaches around Crosshairs, going for his array.

Thick digits slide easily through his slick folds, and Crosshairs gasps when his node is rubbed a couple of times before the fingers are pushed into him.

"I think he's eager for that overload. Look at how efficiently he is cleaning Springer's cock, just waiting to get your spike in his intake, Hide." Blackout rumbles. "Would you like that, little slut? To get the boss's big cock in your mouth?"

_What he really wants is a fucking overload, but he has no objections to sucking Hide's spike either. He's such a bad little slut, and they all like him for it._

"Yes!" He hisses between licks. "Sir! Yes, _Sir_!"

Blackout chuckles, and slowly pumps his digits into Crosshairs's valve, pressing against his node every time he pushes in, and it's slowly bringing him closer to the peak, but he knows that he has to earn that overload.

_He can do so much better than this_.

Crosshairs shifts his optics up to meet Springer's, and lets the now half pressurized spike rest on his stretched out glossa, intake wide open. He bobs his helm, not enough to get the spike into his mouth, but just enough to stimulate a sensitive node on the underside, close to the head, and to give them a spectacular view. Springer groans. Crosshairs's hips jerk to try to meet Blackout's servo, and he suddenly realizes his mistake when Blackout backs off with his ministrations, removing his servo.

_He may earn his overload when he's sucking _Ironhide's_ spike! He should've hurried up with just getting Springer clean, not making him all hot and ready to go again!_

He whines in frustration

"Can you cum again, Springer? It would look so fucking hot." Ironhide asks, and of course he's stroking his spike.

"Sadly, I can't."

"Pity." 

Crosshairs goes back to lapping at Springer's spike, but he doesn't break optic contact, because the mech clearly enjoys it.

_And it makes him feel bad in that way that gets his juices flowing when he sees the way every move he makes is followed with rapt attention._

He squeaks in surprise, squirming, when Blackout's thumb slips into his port, slicked up with Crosshairs's own lubricant.

"Sure has tightened up well." The thumb curls, hitting that spot, and Crosshairs moans shakily. Blackout's digits find his node again. "You like this too, don't you? Getting something in your aft."

Crosshairs feels himself flush again, because what Blackout is doing does feel good, and up until now, he has always counted that as one of those things he can put up with for his lover's pleasure.

"I really hope you do like it, because you will take my spike there, sooner rather than later. So, do you like this? Are you an aft slut as well?"

Crosshairs mewls when Blackout curls his thumb again, averting his optics from Springer out of embarrassment. "I-I... It feels good. Sir." He confesses, even if he isn't certain Blackout's spike will feel as good.

"Of course it does." Ironhide snickers. "Will it feel good to have my cock in your mouth as well?" 

Springer moves out of the way, Hide steps up in front of him. Crosshairs feels incredibly small where he's kneeling in front of the big thug, but he still licks his lip-plates in anticipation, because it's such a turn on, the way they easily handle him, and the thrill of being so helpless.

"Yes, Sir."


	203. Chapter 203

Ironhide's spike bobs just in front of his intake, close enough to be an invitation, but not touching him.

_Hide wants him to take the initiative. He wants that fucking overload, so he sure isn't going to disappoint. He's good at sucking._

Crosshairs leans forward, mouthing lightly at the head with his lip-plates, not breaking optic contact. Ironhide smirks down at him, his bright optics a good sign that he's pleased with Crosshairs's idea.

Pre-transfluid slicks his lips, and he smirks back at Hide when he slowly licks away the sticky fluid. He hears Springer groaning.

"That's so fragging hot."

"Yeah, you really do know what you're doing, little slut." Ironhide rumbles, voice crackling with static.

The only answer Crosshairs gives is flat-tonguing the head of Ironhide's spike a couple of times before searching out that spot underneath the spike — the node that's usually very sensitive — with the tip of his glossa, circling it a few times. Ironhide's hips jerk, and Crosshairs suspects that it isn't a voluntary motion. Without breaking optic contact, Crosshairs sucks the spike into his intake, slowly taking it deeper and deeper, working the underside with his glossa.

Blackout curls his thumb a couple of times — having kept it still for a little while — and strokes his node with a digit. Crosshairs squirms to get more friction, but the servo stills again.

"So, what do you say, Hide? Is he doing well enough to earn some pleasure?" Blackout asks.

Crosshairs sucks the spike deeper, trying and failing to shift his helm to be able to get it deeper into when it hits the back of his intake. 

_He just can't, not in this position. He's already pushing the limit of his gag reflex, and if he tries more, this won't be pretty._

A tiny growl of frustration escapes him when he backs off, slowly bobbing his helm to at least offer some sort of stimulation. He hollows his cheeks, sucking lightly, and rubs his glossa against the ridged length. 

_Probably no use being in a rush, Hide seems to enjoy taking his time._

"He's doing well, he really is good at this. Tried to take it deeper than the position really allows too, and keeps optic contact. Yeah, I think he has earned himself some slow building of his charge." The words are very businesslike, but there's a strain to Hide's voice that tells on how Crosshairs's ministrations affect him.

Blackout starts to pump the thumb in Crosshairs's port, and it makes Crosshairs's squirm, because it's too dry with just the tiny amount of his natural lubricant Blackout has used to get in there, but at the same time Blackout is hitting that spot inside him every time, and that feels kind of good.

"Meh, too dry for this. You're lucky we've pilfered some slick stuff. Did it just for this night, but I'll save it for later, and you will thank me for that." Blackout murmurs in his audial, going back to just curling and uncurling his thumb inside Crosshairs, flicking his anterior node with his digits from time to time.

_They really do care about his comfort. They even got something to use for lube, and that was probably a theft, so they could've easily just not done it._

Crosshairs's charge is slowly rising — not that it wasn't already annoyingly high — and it's getting harder and harder for him to focus on the things he does to Hide's spike, but he really has to, or they'll stop again, keep teasing him. He lets the spike slip out of his intake, just pressing his lip-plates against the head for a second, giving his jaw a tiny break, then he slowly sucks it into his mouth again, looking up at Ironhide as he does it. The big mech is staring at him, enthralled, and in spite of his position, Crosshairs feels kind of powerful, because _he's_ the one who makes Ironhide's fans spin at full speed, _he's_ the one who holds the mech's attention. Crosshairs starts working quicker, feeling the way the spike in his mouth is twitching whenever he hits a sensitive spot, and while Ironhide has stamina, he probably doesn't like to be kept waiting if he doesn't choose to go slow himself.

Ironhide's optics flick away to look over Crosshairs's shoulder for a few seconds, and he nods once before turning his attention back to Crosshairs, grin widening. Blackout starts to toy with his node, repeatedly hitting a spot that feels kind of strange, but at the same time, it feels so very good.

Ironhide plants a servo on Crosshairs's helm, starting to rut into his intake, not deep enough to hit the back of his intake, but almost. It's a relief really, because he's teetering on the edge again, and Crosshairs just can't focus on trying to make it good for Ironhide, and if this is good enough, he sure isn't going to complain.

Crosshairs's entire frame locks up with tension when he's teetering on the edge, and for a long, horrible moment, he thinks he won't make it, that his frame won't let him get that release after being denied so many times. He squirms against Blackout's servo as the big mech keeps hitting that spot that feels so strange...

Then he finally tips over. With a wail around the spike in his mouth, he cums. In spite of how powerful the overload is, he still can feel the fluid running down his thighs, he hears it splashing on the floor, and he does hear someone chuckling. He wants to look down, to see what the hell happened, mortified, but Ironhide holds his helm in a steady grip, and then he overloads. Crosshairs swallows desperately, some of the cum still running down his chin as he can't swallow it all. He goes limp, leaning back against Blackout's massive front, and he pants too cool himself when Ironhide steps back.

"Told you he's a squirter!"


	204. Chapter 204

"Let me guess: you're all spent, and your valve is twitching and you need a break." Blackout rumbles.

Crosshairs is really feeling strutless, leaning against the 'copter, still flushing when he's looking at the small puddle of lubricant on the floor beneath him.

"Uhm, yeh..." He mumbles, still processing the whole... _squirting-business._

"You really have no stamina! Nobody ever gave you multiple overloads before?" Ironhide asks, voice smug.

"No' like this! I never 'ad an overload this powerful." He confesses.

Springer tuts. "Pity. I mean, you have the skills of a fairly experienced slut, but clearly nobody bothered to return the favor..."

Crosshairs doesn't answer, because he has nothing to say. 

_He always thought his lovers were good. Sure, they never tried to figure out what he really enjoyed most, and never took their time to work him like this, but they always made him overload. _

"So, are you ready for another fuck? Blackout asks.

"I-I... I think I'll be too sensitive."

"Hm. Sounds like we can't let him overload if we plan on sticking our cocks in his pussy shortly after. Maybe we should make a flowchart on what order we can do things to keep this going?" Blackout teases.

"I... Please, don' tease me more. I-I wan' te do it, I'm jus' no' used te cuming so 'ard..." Crosshairs almost sobs.

"We'll keep it in mind." Blackout says. "Springer, are you ready to go again?"

"In a couple of minutes. Why?"

"He has tightened up again, and I don't want to _wreck_ him..." There's such a lecherous leer in Blackout's voice, and Crosshairs's valve clenches in spite of everything.

"Are you saying that I'm small?" Springer says.

"No. Just that I'm bigger, and it would be very nice of you to prepare him before I have a go."

_Are they talking about taking him in the aft?_

"Wha' are ye goin' te do?!" He asks nervously.

"We'll claim all of you, and have our way with you, just as you promised that we can when you struck a deal with Hide. Don't worry, Springer is not much bigger than Motormaster, and he doesn't back away from some foreplay." Blackout murmurs in his audial.

Crosshairs doesn't really have a chance to protest before Springer and Ironhide grabs his arms and hoists him to his pedes.

"Across my lap." Springer says, and Crosshairs is helped — dragged really — to Springer's berth.

Ironhide steadies him while Springer takes a seat, and then he's mechhandled to lay across the big mech's lap — chest-plates and knees on the berth, and his hips on top of Springer's thighs.

Digits slip into his wet valve, and he jerks at the contact, still sensitive, then they're pushed into his port.

"I know your valve is too sensitive, but you'll get your respite. Hide just needs to get me the lube so I can slick you up for us."

_He's not much for taking it up the ass, but he has done it before, and he'll do it for them. When it's done, they will continue with the stuff he likes._

Crosshairs arches his back to lift his aft in a silent invitation, and Springer twists his digits, catching a thrown bottle with his other servo at the same time. Crosshairs glances over his shoulder at Springer, but then he flushes and averts his optics when the mech smirks at him. The digits inside him is scissored, and then there's the sound of a spray bottle being used, and the coldness of something inside him.

Springer starts to pump his digits, and they go in easily. Whatever slick he's using it's very slippery, and Crosshairs is experienced enough to know how to relax his port. Another digit is added, and there's stretch, but it's not uncomfortable, and Springer makes a point to hit that sweet spot every time he pumps or twists his digits. Crosshairs starts to move his hips to meet the servo, surprised at how good this feels.

"Nobody ever fingered me like this there before." He confesses shakily, charge starting to rise again.

"Such a pity. Your reactions are delightful." Ironhide says from where he has taken a seat on one of the other berths when Crosshairs buries his face into the bedding to muffle a moan.

"Looks like he's quite the willing little aft slut." Blackout fills in.

"He's almost sucking me in already. Needy little bitch, wanting it in the ass." Springer says.

He's mortified by how he's reacting, because this is the one thing where his previous lovers truly could be derisive about him doing it, and here he is, enjoying these ministrations.

"I... I do this te heed our deal, I don' like it." He croaks, but it turns into half a moan.

"Your field says otherwise. And you will enjoy it when I fuck you too. I'm ready for you, time to sit on my spike."


	205. Chapter 205

Crosshairs doesn't move for long seconds — even as Springer's digits slip out of him — uncertain how to proceed.

_Usually, someone just mounts him and fucks him, and how is he supposed to initiate something so uncomfortable? Biting the pillow is usually the best way to deal with it..._

"Come on now. I want you, and they want to see you..." Springer murmurs encouragingly

"I... 'ow do ye wan' me? Should I...ride ye?"

"Mh, yes... I want you to take all of me of your own accord; back to me, servos on my knees, so they can see your face, and I can see your aft swallowing my spike."

The graphic description is both mortifying and arousing. Crosshairs climbs to his servos and knees, straddling Springer. He places his servos as he was told, leaning forward, but throwing a glance over his shoulder. Springer is staring at his aft with an intensity that has Crosshairs flushing again.

"That's right. I'll line it up for you, all you have to do is sit back and take it. Just wait a second, I'll slick my cock a bit for you."

It's awkward to stand like that, waiting. Especially with two other mechs watching, smirking, fields pawing at his with arousal. He hears the spray bottle, and the wet sound of servo against spike.

"Sit back slowly, so I can steer, and take it at your own pace."

Crosshairs slowly starts to sink back, stopping momentarily when the head of Springer's spike nudges his port. 

"There you go, take it at your own pace. You're well prepped, you know. It'll go in easily." Springer croons.

He obeys, pressing against the blunt spike, and he's both mortified of how easily he opens for it.

"I love the face he makes; embarrassedly surprised by how his ass is readily taking cock." Blackout says.

"It is kind of cute. Such a cocky slut, and yet so innocent." Ironhide fills in. "I just want to keep you in my berth for a month, little slut, and defile you, and show you pleasure."

Crosshairs makes a face, not at the comment, but at the thick spike slowly sliding deeper into him, because there is some stretch.

_Definitely the biggest he has taken, and Blackout said that Springer is smaller than him, and Hide is a bit bigger too..._

Springer strokes his hips, sliding his servos down Crosshairs's thighs.

"You're doing very well. Almost there."

_Wherever 'there' is._

He still pushes back, because it's definitely not as uncomfortable as it has been the other times, even if Springer is big. 

_Maybe the fingering really did make a difference?_

Then his aft hits Springer's pelvic plating, and obviously, the spike is hilted inside him.

"There you are! All inside you." Springer says approvingly. "Lean back."

He slides his servos to the back of Crosshairs's knees, urging him to reposition himself to hitch his legs over Springer's arms, back against the War frame's chest-plates. Crosshairs obeys, and even if it makes the spike get pressed inside even deeper, it's not uncomfortable.

"That's right, give them a good view of how your drooling little valve is all empty, just because the spike is all the way inside your slutty little ass."

Crosshairs flushes again when Springer's digits slip through his wet slit, highlighting how he's aroused but empty, because the cock is in his ass. 

A digit trails down to stroke the rim of his port, stretched around the spike inside him, and Crosshairs squirms, because Ironhide and Blackout are watching with bright optics, lecherous smirks in place.

"I hope you're ready, because I'll start to move now."

Crosshairs doesn't answer, because Springer lifts him slightly, and then he starts to roll his hips, and it's just nothing like what he has experienced before, but actually quite good.


	206. Chapter 206

"You may touch yourself, but you can't overload." Springer says. 

"Damn right. I don't want you to be too spent when it's my turn." Blackout's voice is crackling with static.

_He obviously likes what he sees._

Crosshairs reaches for his array, stroking his valve-lips with his palm a few times before sliding a digit through his wet folds. Curiosity has him reaching further, and he touches the rim of his port where Springer's spike is sliding in and out of him at an almost languorous pace. Crosshairs strokes the rim a couple of times out of curiosity. 

"Think he needs to do some self exploration, Springer." Ironhide says.

Both Ironhide and Blackout is watching with bright optics, and Crosshairs flushes, because he is so exposed in this position. Then Springer lifts him higher and pulls out.

"Test it with your fingers." Blackout all but orders.

Crosshairs pushes a digit inside, and it goes in easily, and even if he can feel it inside him, and the calipers are trying to squeeze his finger, he's definitely slack and relaxed. Not that he knows what it feels like normally, he doesn't play with his aft himself, but he knows how his frame resisted Blackout's digit before by clenching.

"Your calipers are still closing you up. Lovely. It'll make you feel tighter around me." Blackout notes.

"That bit of foreplay really makes all the difference for how well those calipers work." Ironhide says. "Keep fingering yourself, little slut. We want to watch you play with your aft. You can rub your node with your thumb, but you can't overload. Oh, and add a couple of digits."

Touching his node makes all the difference, because even if it feels pretty nice to finger himself like that, it isn't enough to really make his charge rise. He flushes when he sees the way Blackout and Ironhide are watching, both stroking their spikes, because it's so intimate, and he isn't used to put on a show, especially not playing with his aft. He has never felt so sexy before, and the intense focus of three mechs is a heady feeling. Crosshairs moans shakily, feeling his valve-lips go plump under his servo.

"That's enough. Line Springer's cock up with your ass."

Crosshairs reaches for the spike that has been smearing lubricant ad pre-transfluid against the plating of his aft while he was playing with himself. He holds the thick head against the opening, and then Springer drops him, hilting himself in one go. Crosshairs makes a noise of surprise, and he squirms a little, because it was a lot to take at once, and his calipers had obviously started to tighten up. It didn't hurt though, and that's a big step up when it comes to this.

"I just can't decide what I want first. I mean, look at his valve; the way he's drooling again, and those biolights. Now that's a come hither flicker if I ever saw one. But his little port looks really inviting too..." Blackout muses.

"We have enough time to do both."

Crosshairs flushes again, even as his array heats up from the dirty talk. Springer increase the pace, and it doesn't hurt, but even with the slick, it's a little bit uncomfortable. Crosshairs still plays with his node, and even the discomfort is confusingly arousing, and Springer does his that spot inside him.

Blackout glances at Ironhide's spike. "Did you get that modified, or are you that big naturally? I mean, you're definitely smaller than me frame wise, but you're almost as equipped as I am."

"No mods, I swear. I guess the mechs who built me either had humor, a preference, or just took one from the wrong box." Ironhide strokes his spike quicker a couple of times for emphasis.

"Lucky bastard."

"You know, if you were equipped like me proportionally to your size, you'd be stuck fucking heavy machinery. Your spike would go in through the valve and out the intake on the small and pretty."

"True."

"With a great spike comes great responsibility." Ironhide snickers.

Crosshairs stops stroking his node, because he's getting close to an overload, and he isn't keen on testing what they'll do if he overloads in spite of being ordered not to. 

_Not when they're still focused on his ass, and there's so many ways things can turn to way more uncomfortable._

Springer slams in deep, biting Crosshairs's neck with a growl as he overloads.

"Pull out slowly when you're done. I want to see if his calipers still close fully, or if he'll drool cum." Ironhide says to Springer.

Crosshairs flushes again.


	207. Chapter 207

"Would you look at that, his aft is still tight enough to close up." 

"So, how does it feel, little slut, to have your ass full of my cum?" Springer mutters in his audial.

Crosshairs is still sitting on his lap, legs hooked over Springer's knees, spread wide. 

"I... uhm... it's... good?" He stutters, embarrassed about how he's actually trying to figure out how it feels. 

_And how casually Springer asks about these things, especially with the other two watching and listening, and how is it supposed to feel to have cum in his port? He can't really feel it, but there's something arousing about knowing it's there..._

Springer reaches between his legs, teasing Crosshairs port with his digits, and Crosshairs feels the opening relaxing slightly under the touch.

"Now you're drooling." Ironhide says, cocking his optical ridge when he meets Crosshairs's optics.

Crosshairs squeaks with embarrassment and squirms, trying to clench his calipers and Springer rumbles a laugh.

"I can feel my cum dribbling down my digits, you loose little slut. You're opening up nicely from just the slightest touch now."

"Looks like he's ready for me now, and I've decided what I want.." Blackout says, getting up from his seat.

"So you're going to make him all sloppy before I can have him?" Ironhide asks.

"Hey, looks like he stays decently tight, and you're not much smaller than me. He'll be good for you too, and it's my turn now."

"Look at them, fighting over who gets you first, little slut. They sure look horny for you." Springer croons in his audial.

Ironhide just laughs, apparently not at all concerned with getting Blackout's sloppy seconds. Blackout reaches for Crosshairs, big servos splayed under Crosshairs's arms, and then he easily lifts the smaller mech and Crosshairs us carried to a different berth. Blackout puts him down across it, on his back, and then he kneels between Crosshairs's legs, pulling him closer. He lines his spike up, and Crosshairs feels so awkward, holding his legs up in a weird pose.

_He's usually aft up, face down for this, how is Blackout thinking this will work?_

"Here's the lube."

"He looks sloppy enough..."

"Better safe than sorry. Would be a shame to break him the first night, and Roadie and Moto are going to want their fair share tomorrow..." Ironhide says, and his voice brokers no argument.

"Suppose it can't hurt." Blackout says, slicking his spike with what looks like chain lube.

"I.. am I supposed te lay like this?" Crosshairs asks, feeling incredibly awkward. "The hydraulics in my legs may overheat..."

Blackout flashes that predatory grin of his. "No, they won't, and yes, you're going to lay like this, because I want to see my cock sliding into you, and your face when it does so."

_How is it even possible to flush so many times in one night?_

Then the head of Blackout's spike pops into him, and the big Helo grabs the backs of his knees, folding Crosshairs to the point of almost being uncomfortable, but not quite. Then he rolls his hips and sinks in to the hilt.

Crosshairs feels himself make a face, because Blackout is definitely bigger than Springer, and there's stretch and a fullness he didn't quite think was possible.

"Yeah, just like that, little bitch. Take it all. Do you want to play with yourself, or would you prefer one of my brothers doing it for you?"

"I..."

_It feels better when they do it, because they're skilled, but he feels shy asking for it, and isn't that unusual? Though he usually just asked for being fucked, not for what he really wants..._

"I'd like if one o' them would do i'..." He almost whispers.

Blackout smirks at him. "Good choice."


	208. Chapter 208

Blackout fucks him at a pace that suggest that the big mech intends to take his sweet time, and Ironhide comes over to them, taking a seat next to Crosshairs. He looks down at where Blackout's spike is sliding into Crosshairs's, a crooked smirk stretching hing his intake, and Crosshairs squirms in mortification.

_It's not that he never had an audience before, but nobody has ever scrutinized what he's doing so closely before. They just watched from a distance, waiting for their turn._

"It's almost obscene, the way he's stretched around you. Fit for a frag vid. Pity they shut off our inbuilt recording programs."

"Yeah, this would really earn some good stuff. He's still pretty tight." Blackout's voice is rough. "Aren't you, little slut? Do I feel big inside you?"

"Yes, ye do." Crosshairs grinds out, but it's not all discomfort that makes him grind his denta.

_There's something very arousing with the way they talk above him, as if he really is nothing but a toy, but at the same time, he's invited into the conversation, and that's what really hits the spot. He's a participant, and not just a warm frame with slick holes..._

"Just so you know," Ironhide grins down at him as he reaches for Crosshairs's array, "Springer's cum is welling out of you around Blackout's spike."

Crosshairs whimpers, not only from embarrassment, but also from the way Ironhide's digit starts to stroke his node. His intake falls open when Blackout changes the angle, hitting that spot inside him again, and he curls his back, lifting his hips to get even more of that glorious pressure.

Blackout pauses when he's hilted, and Crosshairs growls in frustration, because his charge is starting to rise again, and Ironhide is doing a very lazy dance through the slit of Crosshairs's valve with his digits, not hurried at all.

"That's deep. I really can't get deeper than that." Blackout says contemplatively.

"Think you're right." Ironhide says, not stopping his slow exploration of Crosshairs's folds.

"I wonder if he could accommodate me fully..." Blackout muses.

"Don't you fucking _dare _knotting him before I've had my go." Ironhide growls. "Enough sloppiness is enough."

"I guess that's a fair point."

_What the fuck is knotting?!_

Crosshairs squirms. "More, please! Sir! I wan' more."

"This is the most you'll get." Then Blackout smirk turns into a feral grin. "Unless you're into double penetration, but somehow, I doubt that you could handle two dicks in one hole..."

"I can' do tha'..."

_It's impossible. Blackout alone is more than enough, and unless they have a microbot somewhere around here, there's no way he could take one of the others too._

"At least you're honest about your limitations. I mean it, though: we're not going to completely wreck you here tonight." Ironhide says, and his field shows his honesty.

Blackout starts to move again, those long slow thrusts that really feel like something the he can keep up all night.

_Hopefully, they'll let him overload soon if that's the case._


	209. Chapter 209

Ironhide's digits slip away from Crosshairs's node yet again, spreading his valve-lips to really remove all his chances of squirming enough to get some friction.

_Not that he can squirm much with the way Blackout is holding his legs._

He groans, longing for that overload, his valve clenching around nothing again.

"Please, le' me overload, Sir." He almost sobs.

"Sorry, no can do. Then I'll have to wait for you to be ready again, and I really, really don't like to be kept waiting..." Ironhide growls in his audial.

It sends a thrill down his back-struts — the danger lacing Ironhide's voice, and how demanding the mech is — bur Crosshairs grimaces.

"I'm gettin' sore. Sir." He whines.

It's true. In spite of all the slick, Blackout has been going for so long, Crosshairs's port is starting to feel chafed, and the fullness is almost turning into an ache — not quite, but definitely an uncomfortable throbbing.

Ironhide looks down at where Crosshairs and Blackout are joined, smirking crookedly.

"Looks fine to me. I do see your point, though. Blackout, are you going to hog him all night? I mean, you still have his pussy to defile, and I think Moto and Roadie will be a little bit disappointed if the bitch is still out cold in recharge by the time they get in here, because we kept him up all night."

"Hey, I'm just making the most of my turn now that I can't knot him."

"If you hurry up, then maybe you'll have enough time to do it later, as an encore?"

"Now, that's some grade A strategical thinking!" Springer cackles.

"I can dig that idea." Blackout grunts, increasing the pace.

His ass feels warm, as if there's friction in spite of the lube and the cum, and the increase in pace doesn't help, but at least Blackout is chasing his overload now, and if he's honest, it's far from the worst discomfort he has been through when interfacing.

_Especially when someone takes him in the aft. And Ironhide is back to being generous with the stimulation, so maybe he thinks that Crosshairs deserves the overload that has been kept from him for Primus knows how long._

Blackout growls, hips stuttering before he slams in deep, and Crosshairs squirms, so very full, so very close, and...

Ironhide stops stroking his node, pulling his servo away, and Crosshairs squeaks a frustrated, desperate little noise. He grabs the big mech's wrist-strut and pulls, trying to steer the servo back to his array.

Ironhide chuckles, easily resisting Crosshairs attempt to take control of his extremity.

"Now, isn't this a bit presumptuous for a little bitch?"

"Looks awfully demanding." Blackout agrees through gritted denta.

"I'm... I, _please_ let me overload, Sir!" Crosshairs whines, on the verge of crying. "I didn' mean te be demandin', I jus' _need_..."

"Aaw, the little slut is _needy!_" Springer teases. "Maybe we should forgive him for wanting you both so much?"

Blackout jerks back quickly, his spike slipping free with an obscene pop.

"I'm thinking more along the lines that he will make it up to me..." Ironhide muses. "On all fours, little slut."


	210. Chapter 210

"_Please_, Sir! I'm gettin' sore..." Crosshairs whines, not getting into position, but sitting on his pedes to protect his aft.

"You said that. You also said that we could have you any way we want. This is what I want." Ironhide's voice is smooth, but there's a steely undertone there.

Crosshairs makes a face, ignoring that thrill down his back-struts that Ironhide's voice causes.

"Self-pity isn't a good look on you, sweetie." Blackout says mockingly.

Ironhide's servo slips under his coattails, digits rubbing lazy circles along his back-struts, while the big mech leans closer, lip-plates almost brushing Crosshairs's audials.

"Are you damaged? Any warnings popping up in your HUD?" He murmurs.

"No."

"Good. You know I'm smaller than Blackout. I'll use more lube, and I'll be quick. I'm already worked up from watching you be fucked, you're so hot. Of course I want another piece of such a sexy little slut. Will you be good for me? I promise I'll make you overload..." Ironhide croons.

It should be impossible for his valve to go slicker, but apparently it isn't. He isn't that keen on taking even more cock in his ass, but truth be told, he has been far more sore and still allowed mechs to take him.

"I'll be good." Crosshairs mutters, leaning forward to get into position.

"The best little slut." Ironhide says, pushing Crosshairs's coattails to the side, kneeling behind him. "You can bite the pillow if you want."

Crosshairs feels the coldness when Ironhide sprays the lube on his port, and then the spike slips into him to the hilt. He has tightened up slightly while trying to get out of this, and there's that burning stretch, and the ache is still there.

"Ow." He slumps forward, pressing his face into the pillow. "I'm sore." He mumbles, the words muffled.

"I know, babe, but you're doing so well." Ironhide encourages him.

Crosshairs squirms at the praise. He isn't used to being told he's doing something well with such sincerity. Then Ironhide starts to move, and he actually forgets about the discomfort, because the angle Ironhide is pounding into him at is hitting that spot inside him just _so_. Crosshairs wails into the pillow, astonished at how quickly his charge is rising.

"You better keep it down, or everyone is going to hear you getting fucked through the berth. We don't want the guards to come in here to investigate, do we? Then you won't get that overload..." Ironhide growls, splaying a big servo on the back of Crosshairs's helm to push his face deeper into the bedding.

It doesn't take many more thrusts before Crosshairs overloads so hard, his vocalizer goes haywire with unintelligible beeps, and then he's knocked into a reboot.


	211. Chapter 211

His reboot is kind of slow, with the cottony feel of slowly waking up after a long night's good sleep, and sleeping in well into the morning.

He's stretched out on his front on the berth, face still buried in the pillow.

"Welcome back to the land of the living..." Blackout snickers.

Crosshairs almost blurts _'shut up'_, but then reality catches up, and no matter how much it wouldn't be meant as anything but dopey teasing, there's still the risk that they would take it at face value, and things could go so very wrong. He busies himself with taking stock of his frame instead.

_No warnings, and no notifications, so he isn't damaged, even if his port feels very slick, sore, and weirdly loose._

"Fuckin' _pit_, ye make me come 'ard!" Crosshairs says instead, because it's true, and it can't hurt to stroke their egos.

"Well, it's not like it's rocket science. You're really easy to satisfy." Ironhide rumbles, clearly amused.

Crosshairs doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say. He always prided himself on being easy to bring to overload — even if he has faked it on numerous occasions, just to please his lovers — but this evening has showed him what an overload _can_ feel like, and what he has had before seems like a mocking of an orgasm compared to what the Autobots have given him. 

_Though, there's a price to pay; he feels strutless and spent, and it would be just perfect to be allowed to drop into recharge right now._

"I'm guessing that you aren't ready for cock in your pussy right now?" Ironhide asks him.

"Ye know me so well..."

"At least we're getting to know your frame. But now you've taken a bit of a nap here, and Springer has a hard-on that's still waiting for you." Ironhide says.

"Yeah, just look at this; all pressurized and weeping for you." Springer leers, slowly stroking his spike for emphasis.

"Looks really tasty. Wan' te try my mouth again? I've 'ad a bit o' practice since last time..." Crosshairs purrs, because initiative can probably never be wrong.

"Sounds like a splendid idea."

"So 'ow do ye wan' me? On my knees, or on my back so ye can go really deep?"

"Deepthroating does sound very tempting, but I want you to do all the work for now. Come here." Springer says, pointing to the floor between his pedes.

His frame still feels tired, but Crosshairs rolls out of the berth, and walks over to Springer, sinking to his knees.

"Sure is a sweet-looking beast." He murmurs, grabbing Springer's spike with his servo, then he leans forward to lick a line from the base to the tip. He makes a show of licking his lips, keeping optic contact with Springer. "Tastes good too."


	212. Chapter 212

He has been giving Springer a really good treatment — a treatment worthy of a Prime, if Primes wants blowjobs from little bitches — but it isn't all unselfish, because every minute he's sucking spike, his other systems are getting a reprieve.

_A reprieve from the really good treatment he has been getting._

"Fucking pit, you really are good at this." Springer groans, his helm lolling back where he's reclining on his servos.

Crosshairs only answer is a sloppy, wet suck as he lets the spike slip out of his intake. He laps at the head of the spike immediately, twisting his servo around the base.

_It's probably a good idea to not answer, but give Springer more of what he seems to enjoy instead. And it isn't like he thinks it tastes bad._

"He really is good at that. Better than I hoped for, really." Ironhide muses.

"Thought he would protest the deepthroating, but it turns out he's _good_ at it." Blackout says.

"You hear that, little bitch? You're better than we thought when we chose you. We thought that you would be good enough, but you're _exceeding_ our expectations." Springer grunts, approval readily tangible in his field.

_He has heard that he's good before, but nobody ever told him, nobody ever said it directly to him. He didn't mind the degradation of being objectified and hearing it in third person, but it's much more powerful to have someone tell him personally. He really likes that._

Crosshairs sucks the spike as deeply into his intake as he can to show that he likes the praise. Springer groans when Crosshairs bobs his helm.

"You can touch yourself if you want to, get ready for the next cock. Though I suppose you're slick enough even if you don't." Springer tells him.

_It's true, and that turns him on. He's so wet, he's still practically dripping, both from lubricant, and possibly some lingering transfluid. If it hasn't been flushed out when he squirted._

Crosshairs flushes at that thought, but at the same time, it's arousing. He reaches between his legs to test his folds, if they're still oversensitive, and finds his array ready for more play. He briefly reaches back, touching his port, and it has closed up by now, but it isn't really offering resistance. Crosshairs wiggles his digit a couple of times, but he doesn't find that spot they hit with their spikes, so he pulls out to play with his more well-known parts.

_They'll probably do more stuff with his aft soon enough again to sate his curiosity._

"You know what? Get on the berth. I want to finish deep down your throat, and I want to see you fingering yourself when I do it."

Crosshairs lets the spike slip out of his mouth and climbs onto the berth, stretching out on his back, helm hanging over the edge. He immediately slips his servo between his legs, wet noises audible when he slides his digits into himself.

"Eager and obedient. I like it." Ironhide says approvingly. "But don't make yourself overload yet, or you won't give Blackout any choice but to take your little pussy while it's still twitching and oversensitive."

Crosshairs can't nod, nor can he agree verbally, because Springer's spike is slipping down his intake. It's easier this time, because now he knows what to expect, and Springer is smaller than Blackout.

Springer starts to move, fucking Crosshairs's mouth, and Crosshairs fingers his wet valve, feeling the optics of the others as they come to stand next to Springer to watch.

_He has never felt so wanted in his entire life._

Springer pushes in to the hilt, and Crosshairs sees the rise in the levels in his tank when the transfluid trickles down the tubing.

_There's something hot about that._


	213. Chapter 213

"Mh, sopping wet, needy, little valve. Just the way I like it." Blackout growls, thick digits sliding into Crosshairs's valve without preamble.

Springer has stretched out on one of the berths, looking satisfied, and Crosshairs spends a second to think about how they don't seem to care much about who uses which berth, and that it can be good to know how those things work, but then Blackout effectively distracts him with a clever curl of his digits.

"Well, of course, 'andsome! 'ow could I stay dry an' unprimed aroun' so many ho' mechs?" Crosshairs purrs, bucking up to meet Blackout's servo. "Ye make it so good fer me."

_It's not a lie. In just a part of a night, they've showed him how good interfacing can be when someone takes the time to figure out his preferences._

"And I guess you're ready to get something bigger in this drooling little valve of yours?"

"Oh, _please_, babe! Give it te me. _Sir_!"

_He puts it on rather thick, but it doesn't feel forced. On the contrary; putting on an act is turning him on, and it's hard to tell how much is an act at all._

"Well, since you ask so nicely..."

Blackout kneels between his legs, lining his spike up, and Crosshairs licks his lip-plates in anticipation, because the big spike looks so tantalizing, and he knows how good that beast feels inside him from that time in the washracks. He tilts his hips to get the head closer to the opening of his valve, as close to trying to get it inside as possible without seeming too demanding about it.

"You really need this, don't you? Horny little bitch." Blackout leers.

"I do! Please le' me 'ave it! Sir."

"I feel generous tonight, so I'll indulge you."

Then the spike finally slides into him, and Crosshairs arches his back to let it all inside. He wraps his legs around Blackout's hips to push him deeper.

"Greedy little bitch." Blackout snickers.

"Yeah, he really wants it all. Hard to move like that though..." Hide chips in.

"Agreed. I think I'll use the wall for this."

"Good plan."

Blackout easily pries Crosshairs's legs from around him, getting his arms under the smaller mech's legs, then he lifts Crosshairs without pulling out. Crosshairs hooks his servos over Blackout's shoulders, hard pressed to reach on the massive Helo.

"Wha're ye doin'?"

"I'm gonna pound you really good, give you all you want, and then a few inches more."

Crosshairs's back hits the wall, and Blackout grinds against him, making Crosshairs squirm. He's never had such a big spike before, and the way the head of that spike grinds against his ceiling node is pleasurable in a slightly uncomfortable way.

"Enough for you, little slut?" Blackout rumbles.

"Yeh." Crosshairs pants.

Blackout smirks at him, then he pulls out almost all the way before slamming inside. Crosshairs mewls and makes a face, because it's almost too much, but only almost.

Blackout sets a hard rhythm of powerful thrusts, and Crosshairs mewls every time he bottoms out.

"You want someone pressing a pillow to your face, or should we disconnect your vocalizer? You're getting loud. Don't get me wrong, I like it, but someone who shouldn't may hear you..."

"I'll be quiet."

"We'll hold you to that too."

Crosshairs bites down on his glossa to force himself to be quiet. His digits scrabble haphazardly against Blackout's plating. It's not like he can do much more than hang on and take it.

"Here, let me show you something." Blackout says, grabbing his servo. He reaches between them, guiding Crosshairs's digit to his anterior node, stroking it. "Like this."

It feels really good, very intense, just like when Blackout stroked him to overload, and Crosshairs catches on quickly, continuing by himself.

"I'm getting close, so go ahead and overload."

Then Blackout starts moving again, and Crosshairs continues working his node, charge rising quickly. He grinds his denta to not moan too loudly, and then he finally falls over the edge. His valve clenches, around the massive spike still moving inside him, and he feels the stream of liquid coating Blackout's spike and pelvic plating, and once again, he's mortified by it.

"Yeah!" Blackout groans, probably reacting to Crosshairs field.

"A consistent squirter." Springer says.

Crosshairs mewls in embarrassment where he hangs strutless in Blackout's grip. It sends Blackout over too, and he slams on deep with a low growl. Crosshairs feels spent, but also very contented.

_They've all had him in every way, and he has really enjoyed being their bad little slut._


	214. Chapter 214

Blackout puts him down on the berth and Crosshairs relaxes on the lumpy mattress. The others surround him, starting to wipe the fluids from his frame.

_It's nice. It should make him feel like a ridiculous sparkling — it always did when Dirge wiped away the evidence of their filthy couplings — but oddly enough, it makes him feel cared for. Nobody ever did this for him before — well, except Dirge — and it is something he never knew that he wanted._

Digits slip under his plating here and there, feeling him up, but Crosshairs really doesn't mind. 

_Not when it's the best lovers he has ever had who are doing it, and he can bask in the attention of three hot mechs._

"Feel anythin' ye like?" He purrs, but he sounds more dopey from satisfaction than seductive.

Ironhide hums a chuckle, a sinful sound that sends a thrill down Crosshairs's back-struts. "Both see and feel things I like very much. You really have lovely cables and wiring."

Someone's servo slips between his legs, carefully wiping his valve-lips, but avoiding his node and slit, and in spite of how strutless he feels, the teasing touch so close but still not quite there makes something deep inside him twitch. He squirms, even if he isn't certain that he really wants more.

_He's so damned well fucked already._

"Flip him."

Everything suddenly spins when they roll him over on his front.

"Oi! What the..."

"Your aft isn't really any less sticky." Springer snickers, flipping Crosshairs's coattails to the side.

Crosshairs makes an embarrassed noise into the pillow, but the servos wiping his thighs and aft feel really nice, almost like a massage.

_Yep, he really chose the right people to make a deal with. Even if they just do him this courtesy once now and then, it'll be worth it. They're fragging great in berth too, so..._

He squeals in surprise when a digit slips into his ass, and they laugh.

"Definitely a bit looser, but not sloppy. Seems like he's pretty quick with tightening up afterwards." Blackout says, pumping his digit a couple of times, deliberately hitting that spot inside that Crosshairs failed to find earlier.

"Good." Ironhide says. "I mean, especially if you still plan on knotting him."

"Well, I do have some jizz left in my reservoir..."

"Even after all this?" Springer sounds doubtful.

"I've set my specifications to not spill too much each time. More fun like that. And I have a pretty big reservoir too."

Ironhide barks a laugh. "Blackout's well equipped for the kinky stuff."

_What the fuck is knotting? But then again, if it's kinky, he's kind of curious..._


	215. Chapter 215

His knees are nudged apart, and the bed dips under Blackout's massive frame.

"Wha're ye doin'?" Crosshairs asks over his shoulder, spark speeding up with nerves. He hears the spray bottle again — _and how in the pit is it even possible that Blackout can be ready to go again so soon?!_ — and then the telltale sound of a servo slicking a cock, then the thick head of Blackout's spike nudges his port. "'m still feelin' chafed..."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to move much." The head of his spike slides inside. "Never been knotted before?"

Crosshairs mewls unintelligibly, reluctant to admit that he hasn't even heard of knotting before, let alone tried it. 

_He has prided himself on having tried a lot of the things most mechs wouldn't want to admit even thinking about._

"I bet a ration of high grade that he hasn't tried it." Ironhide says. 

"You're on!" Springer takes the bet.

Blackout pushes in deeper rather slowly, as if he doesn't want to make it unnecessarily uncomfortable. Or maybe he's just savoring it. He bends forward, curling his frame, and Crosshairs shivers as a hot air from Blackout's exvents tickles the sensors around his audials.

"So what is it, little slut? Are you too innocent to have tried being knotted?" Blackout croons as he slides in to the hilt.

"I-I've never tried it before..."

Blackout rumbles a deep laugh. "So I'm the one to pop this cherry? Such a treat."

"Fucking pit! Lost my high grade, _and _Blackout gets to do the honor..."

"Well, at least you don't have to jerk off tonight. Must be a first for a very long time." Ironhide snickers.

"True."

"So, do you even know what knotting is, little bitch?" Blackout purrs.

Crosshairs flushes. "No' really..." 

"I bet you heard of frame-locks in interface education in school?"

"Jus' that it 'appens when tryin' te get sparked, no' exactly 'ow it 'appens."

_He remembers it vaguely now, something about the coupling latching on to the gestational chamber, but his bolt would stop that, and then something he can't remember — he wasn't paying attention, because he was still a virgin, and not interested in interfacing back then._

Crosshairs squirms, because suddenly, the stretch feels more intense.

"My spike has a flare just above the base, and when I activate that, it swells, filling out inside the first row of calipers. Works the same way wherever I'm sticking my cock at the moment. Then when I'm firmly coupled, I overload, and it will go on for as long as it takes to empty my reservoir."

Crosshairs makes a noise, because the stretch is a bit uncomfortable by now.

"Take it easy, it won't get much bigger." Blackout croons, then he suddenly pulls back a bit. It makes Crosshairs rock with him. "See? You're not going anywhere until I'm done." There's a dark leer in Blackout's voice, and his field is tacky with ramped up arousal.

It should be scary, and perhaps demeaning, but Crosshairs just can't help that he's turned on by being used like this. It far outweighs the discomfort in his ass. He feels his valve-lips go hot and start to throb.

"Oh, yes! This is so fucking good! You'll be dribbling my cum for days when I'm done." Blackout groans.

"If he isn't so loose, it'll all run out again immediately." Springer snickers.

"Yeah, better have a rag under him when you pull out." Ironhide adds, a grin audible in his voice.

Crosshairs feels like he's full to bursting, but that swelling of Blackout's spike makes it press against the sweet spot inside him. Crosshairs reaches between his legs, starting to stroke his node.

"Maybe give me that rag now? He's so full, my cum is starting to seep out around my spike."

Springer cackles. "Let me see!"

Blackout sits back, and it jostles Crosshairs. He flushes when they all stare at where Blackout is stuck inside him, and he can feel the fluid slowly dribbling down the slit of his valve to coat his digits as he works his node.

"Move your servo. I'm taking over now." Ironhide says.

Crosshairs immediately obeys, pulling his servo out from under him. Ironhide puts a cloth under him, and then he starts to stroke Crosshairs's valve-lips.

"Wouldn't want you to overload too quickly, so I better do this for you."


	216. Chapter 216

Blackout's servos keep his hips in a vice like grip, a few twitching motions of his hips telltale signs that he's overloading. The Copter's fans are spinning on full blast, but otherwise he's quiet for the moment.

Which makes Crosshairs's little whimpers sound so much louder. He presses his face into the pillow in embarrassment to muffle his noises.

_He's so,_ so _fucking full, and it's embarrassing to be turned on by it, by knowing that Blackout has topped him up to overflowing, and the way Ironhide's digits are lazily slipping through the slit of his valve, underscoring that he's being a bad little slut again, taking it up his ass..._

"Whatever it is that's making your field like this, keep thinking about it, 'cause hot damn..." Blackout groans.

Crosshairs squirms, face still hidden in the pillow to hide how he flushes.

"Maybe someone needs to confess what he's thinking about?" Ironhide purrs.

Crosshairs shakes his helm.

_He'll burn up from embarrassment, smelt on the spot and burn a hole in the berth, and become a puddle on the floor._

"Hmh. I think we need to guess then, Bots." Ironhide says, pulling his digits away from where they're drawing lazy circles around Crosshairs's anterior node.

"_No_, don't _stop!_" Crosshairs growls in frustration. "Sir!" He still adds it when he catches himself, because he's pretty certain that Ironhide isn't above keeping him from overloading for the rest of this... This _knotting. Or the entire night for that matter._

"Maybe he likes getting a fat cock in his port?" Springer muses.

"Possible. Or perhaps it's because he can't keep that cum inside him?" Ironhide says pulling his servo away entirely. "Look at this. My servo is all soaked with transfluid that won't fit inside his tight little ass."

Crosshairs almost squeaks at that comment, and he can't stop himself from snapping his helm around to look at Ironhide.

Sure enough, the big mech is holding up his servo, all smeared with Blackout's transfluid and Crosshairs's own lubricant.

"Could be that he isn't all that tight anymore?" Springer leers.

"Yeah... You know, little slut, my servo looks like it needs a cleaning before I continue to play with your empty, starving little cunt." 

Ironhide holds out his servo for Crosshairs, and after some hesitation, Crosshairs pushes his arms under him to rest on his elbows, and leans in to lap at Ironhide's servo. Moving around makes the calipers in his port flutter feebly around the thick spike, and Blackout groans, grinding against him, and manages to get half an inch deeper. Crosshairs feels the transfluid dribble out, running down the slit of his valve to be soaked up by the rag underneath him, and his valve throbs dully. He pushes a servo under him to reach for his array again, but Ironhide grabs it with the servo Crosshairs isn't licking clean.

"None of that, needy little slut. I'll give you what you deserve when you've earned it." Ironhide rumbles in a low voice.

Crosshairs's calipers flutter again, the command sending a thrill down his back-struts. The noise Blackout makes is downright indecent, and Crosshairs can't help but feel smug about it, clenching his calipers again.


	217. Chapter 217

Crosshairs has never really thought about using his spike before. Sure, he jerked off a few times out of curiosity, but it just wasn't as good as interfacing, and when he interfaces, everyone always wants his valve, so it is the natural choice. But with Blackout still overloading, he gets curious. 

_It really must be awesome when the overload goes on for so long, but what does it feel like when overloading with his spike? Maybe that's different from when he jerks off too? Not that he has any hopes that one of the brothers would let him spike one of them, but maybe one day, when he's out of here, he'll try it with someone._

Crosshairs dips his glossa into the seam of Ironhide's servo, trying to get all the fluids away.

"Too bad I don't have the hands of a medic. Then this would be more than visibly pleasing." Ironhide says to Springer.

Springer snorts. "Yeah, like you would ever be fit to _heal_ mechs. You're better at breaking them." 

"Maybe you're right. This one sure falls apart easily under my digits." Ironhide leers.

"He's kind of easy, though..."

"Are you implying I'm not that good?"

"Ye're really good, Sir." Crosshairs interjects.

Ironhide grins, approval seeping into his field. "See? I'm really good."

"Well if he says so..."

"Are you itching to have a go and try me, or what? I mean, I agree with Blackout about your aft not being all that pretty, but if you bend over, I could always offline my optics..."

"The two of you're talking so much about my aft, I'm going to stop picking up the solvent in the washracks."

Ironhide barks a laugh. "Don't worry, we have a pretty little bitch now." He turns to Crosshairs. "Right, little slut? We can have so much pussy, mouth and ass, we don't have to even look at Springer."

"Yeh, ye got all o' me, as much as ye wan'." Crosshairs purrs, sucking one of Hide's digits into his intake.

"You're such a good little slut. I think you deserve a reward."

Ironhide pulls his servo away from Crosshairs, and immediately pushes it underneath the smaller mech again, digits stroking his valve-lips with light touches that just graze his node slightly with every stroke. For so little contact, it's incredibly arousing, but it's also nowhere near enough to get him close. Blackout rolls his hips, even if he can't really move much inside Crosshairs.

"I'm going to knot your pussy too sometime, when my reservoir is filled up again, fuck you feel so _good_. Might even go for your intake when you're good with deepthroating." Blackout grunts.

_He thought he was good at deepthroating! But then again, it was the first time, and practice makes perfect... And he probably isn't ready to be knotted in his mouth just yet anyway._

Ironhide's digits dip into his valve, curling to hit a node that is particularly sensitive, and Crosshairs's hips jerk of their own accord, making the knot press against the calipers in his aft in a way that's both uncomfortable and still feels good somehow. He whines, squirming.

"You see? You're not going anywhere until I'm done." Blackout purrs wickedly.

"I don't think he really wants to go somewhere else..." Ironhide snickers when he draws a circle around Crosshairs anterior node, and Crosshairs moans loudly.

_It's probably true. His processor might be a bit hazy, but he really can't think of any place he'd rather be._


	218. Chapter 218

Blackout grunts, sounding pleased. "Damn, it was a long time since the last time I was completely drained!"

It feels like he's slightly less full, but Crosshairs just waits passively, enjoying the touches Hide grants him, and the way Blackout's spike stirs inside him when the big Helo moves.

The stretch tapers off, and then Blackout pulls out, a rush of transfluid dribbling out in the wake of the still massive spike. Ironhide's digits slip out of his valve and back to his port, sliding in without any resistance.

"You're definitely a loose little slut now, but you're still closing up. It may take a few minutes, but you won't be gaping all night. It's almost as if you were _built_ for this..."

_Maybe he is? It's the only thing he has ever been fairly good at, maybe Primus's intentions for him really were being a slut all along? And they're teaching him so much, if he really tries to be even better, he's going to be the best at it..._

So, wha' do _you_ wan', big Bot?" He purrs, because he still hasn't overloaded, and Ironhide's spike is hard again.

Ironhide cocks an optical ridge, smirking at him. He clicks his vocalizer, then he suddenly stands, grabbing Crosshairs, easily lifting him from the berth. Crosshairs squawks in both surprise and embarrassment, because it makes a glob of transfluid dribble out of him, running down his legs where he dangles in Hide's grip — strong servos holding him under his arms, like a sparkling, or perhaps a turbokitten.

"Blackout, you better clean up a little bit after yourself. I think he'll leave a wet patch big enough all by himself."

"Plug him." Blackout shrugs, but he still grabs a rag and wipes Crosshairs's aft and thighs.

"You know, if you do stick a rag in his aft, he may feel tighter..." Springer muses. "Or did you plan on plowing his ass too? I guess a rag in there would make him feel tighter there too, though..."

Blackout barks a laugh, and Crosshairs grimaces when feels the abrasive surface of the cloth being pushed into him. It's not that the cloth is rough, but he's still feeling a bit chafed.

"Sore?" Ironhide asks, studying his face-plates.

"Yeh."

"Blackout, get the nanite gel. We can't have him all torn up when Moto and Roadie want their share tomorrow."

Blackout pulls the rag out, and walks over to a small shelf, grabbing a tiny bottle. He smears his digits with it, and then he comes back, sliding his fingers into Crosshairs's port. The effect is instantaneous: the cream cools and soothes his sore opening. Blackout pumps his digits a couple of times, and rubs that sensitive spot, and it makes Crosshairs twitch where he's hanging, because it feels good, especially now that all the discomfort is gone.

"That's enough." Ironhide says, and Blackout's digits slip out.

Crosshairs is carried to one of the other berths, and Ironhide throws him at it, grinning like a cyberwolf when Crosshairs bounces on the mattress, squeaking from the mechhandling.

Ironhide crawls onto the berth, stalking him, and Crosshairs barely resists the urge to scramble away, because there's something unnerving about how predatory the big mech manages to look with his surprisingly smooth movements, and intense focus and....

Crosshairs valve clenches and it makes lubricant dribble out of his valve, because he's going indecently wet. Ironhide notices, smirking slowly as he sniffs the air.

"Mmm, live prey..." He rumbles, voice rough.

Then he pounces.


	219. Chapter 219

Crosshairs's wrist-struts are grabbed and pinned above his helm.

"Now something tells me that you're a kinky little slut, who enjoys when we grab ahold of you, and use you as we see fit. That you like it a bit rough." 

Crosshairs squirms, because it's true, and even if he always has been turned on by his lovers using him, it's quite different to have it spelled out like this. 

_It does sound more kinky out loud than it ever did in his helm._

"Am I right? Do you enjoy the thought that I would do this to you even if you cried _no_, and _stop,_ and _please not there?_ Hm?"

"I-I..."

_Oh, Primus, the filthy images in his helm. It's so wrong, especially after Dirge, because he sure didn't enjoy that, but Hide is hot, and he can't really think of anything the big mech could do to him that he wouldn't want to do. But how sick isn't it to want to be forced?_

Ironhide wraps a servo around his throat instead, letting go of his wrists, and Crosshairs instinctively grabs Ironhide's massive wrist-strut. 

_Not that he could really do anything to free himself, but where else should he place his servos?_

His valve clenches at the thought that he's at the mercy of the big Warframe.

"Now, this is interesting, because your field says _go_, but I'm not hearing any words, and I do know that I'm not squeezing that hard, so you should be able to speak. It takes a lot more force to tear out a throat, even on a smallish mech such as yourself." Hide purrs in his audial.

The implication that Ironhide has done that at some point should be terrifying, but Crosshairs valve apparently approves, because it contracts with a throb, making more lubricant dribble out. Ironhide grin is absolutely feral, and he cocks an optical ridge, slowly reaching for Crosshairs's array.

"Am I going to find you sopping wet from the mechhandling, little slut? Because I smell lubricant..."

"I... yes, Sir." Crosshairs mumbles.

Two digits slowly slip into his aching valve.

"Would you look at that. Kinky, kinky little bitch. I have one request, though, even if I can teek your field well enough."

"_Anythin'!_ Sir!"

"If this at any point turns into something you're not enjoying, you say _Prime, _and we'll do something you do enjoy instead."

"I, uhm, wha'? O-okay?"

"I'm not much for true force and lack of consent, and these kinds of games require a safe word, ergo, if you stop liking what we're doing, you say _Prime_. I won't have you calling me a rapist after the fact just because you couldn't tell me to stop. Understood?" The last word is almost a barked order, and it makes Crosshairs's valve clench around the digits inside him. It makes Ironhide smirk.

_It sounds really weird to give him a stop word. That kind of defies the point of forcing him, doesn't it? Because he really wants to do this, and he's obviously in on it, and he's their little slut anyway, so he will go along with whatever they want. But if that's what it'll take to get Hide to fuck him..._

"Y-yes, Sir!"

"Good little Bot."

The servo around his throat squeezes tighter, then Ironhide pulls his digits out from Crosshairs's valve, lining his spike up, and slamming inside in a fast but smooth move.

"Filthy little slut." He growls, setting a harsh pace.

One of the lines in his throat is squeezed hard enough to slow the supply of energon to the power bank in his processor, and instinctively, Crosshairs claws at Ironhide's lower arm. It's kind of scary, because it really shows how helpless he is, and he thrashes under the massive mech.

"Please, don'..." He whines.

"Yeah, I like it when you struggle..." Ironhide grunts.

It seems like he's paying no mind to Crosshairs's pleading, but then a thin thread of reassurance weaves through his field, and suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle falls into place in his mind.

_It's part of the game. He has a stop word if he really needs it, but Ironhide is careful about not really grabbing too hard around his throat..._

"No, stop i'!" He forces out.

"Shut up, bitch. I'll fuck you however I want. What are you going to do about it?" Hide challenges.

Crosshairs flails wildly, that's what he does about it, trying to squirm away. 

_As if he wasn't getting turned on by what they're doing at all. Maybe_ _ he can sneak a quick overload somehow..._


	220. Chapter 220

Ironhide lets go of Crosshairs's throat, and the smaller mech takes advantage, tries to flail free and get away.

Not that he really wants to, but there's something almost intoxicating with how easily Ironhide wrangles him into submission, and if he struggles, the bigger mech will probably show some of that power and restrain him again.

"No, don', please _stop_!" He cries out, but it doesn't sound entirely sincere.

Ironhide grins at him while he grabs Crosshairs upper arms, pressing him deeper into the mattress by leaning heavily on his arms.

"Now, why would I do that? You came here to be our bitch, and I have rights here. All the rights to fuck you whenever, and however I want."

Crosshairs bucks up to try to get the spike out of him, or at least make it seem like that's what he's doing. He manages to rub his anterior node against Ironhide's pelvic plating in the process, and the growl that leaves his vocalizer has nothing to do with his inability to get away, and everything to do with the pleasure he manages to catch. He keeps squirming, hoping that Ironhide won't catch what he's up to.

Ironhide tuts. "Pathetic."

Crosshairs bucks again, and this time, he can't hold back the moan that leaves his vocalizer. Ironhide grins, obviously catching on.

"Such a needy little slut. You know you only overload when I let you."

"Use him as a cock sleeve." Blackout suggests.

Ironhide barks a laugh. "Good idea."

He grabs Crosshairs's waist, big servos almost reaching around, and then he lifts Crosshairs. The Corvette is held just above the berth, and utterly unable to really do anything but flail, and even his best attempts are useless. Ironhide starts to rock him back and forth, not pulling him back hard enough to mash Crosshairs's node against his pelvic plating.

Crosshairs has had a lot of firsts this night, and while one of them has been a frustration he has never experienced before, Ironhide's minute control of everything lights an anger that he never felt in bed before, and it finally makes Crosshairs snap.

"Ye fuckin' _bastard!_ Don' ye _dare_ deny me an overload again!" He snarls.

Crosshairs manages to grab a pillow and he hits the smug bastard in the helm with it, even as Ironhide is still using him as if he's some sort of masturbation tool.

Springer cackles a laugh. "Feisty!"

"Points for inventiveness." Blackout says.

Ironhide is grinning like a shark, clearly amused by Crosshairs's feeble struggling, and the tiny part of Crosshairs's processor that isn't screaming bloody murder about the charge that's actually being fueled by his anger, notes that this is probably exactly what Ironhide was going for: some honest struggling without truly forcing himself on his "victim."

He changes tactics; lets go of the pillow and reaches for his array instead, staring defiantly into Ironhide's optics while circling his node with his digit. He mewls exaggeratedly and arches his back to show off his frame, and that he isn't just going to let the bastard get his way without a struggle, even if stealing an overload may be an unorthodox way to take his power back.

_This power play is kind of arousing though._

"Someone wants to hold his arms for me? I don't feel like switching position, but he's being a brat." Ironhide asks the others.

"_No!_ Fuck you! Fuck ye _all!_" Crosshairs snarls, because that's just unfair.

"Isn't that what you've been doing all night?" Blackout asks, getting off his berth just to take a seat next to Crosshairs.

He flails to keep his wrist-struts from getting caught, but it doesn't take Blackout long to have them both gathered in one of his servos, and Crosshairs makes a face of defeated annoyance.

"You're kind of cute when you're sulking." Blackout snickers.

"Bastards."


	221. Chapter 221

_At least Hide's spike is thick and wonderfully ridged, so it does feel good to be used as a cock sleeve. It's just not enough..._

"I wonder if he'll start swearing again, or if he will beg." Springer muses.

"I'm guessing that he wants to beg. I mean, he certainly likes it rough too, but there's this desperation leaking into his field..." Ironhide says, keeping optic contact with Crosshairs as he speaks.

Crosshairs is about to online his vocalizer and curse them all out like they've never heard before.

"And he's a smart little slut, so he probably knows that we're the ones who decide if he gets to overload or not." Blackout fills in.

_Fuckers!_

He clenches his jaw, because while he isn't going to say something he will pay for in frustration, Crosshairs isn't ready to give in and start pleading for an overload either.

"I thought this was goin' te be about me beggin' ye ye stop, no' beggin' ye te give me more?" He snarks, because the scene has changed quite a bit from how it started. 

_The only thing he minds about that_ _ is the frustration, but that seems to be present in every game they cook up, so he'll probably have to get used to it._

"Maybe we should force him to overload?" Blackout rumbles.

_Like they need to force him to do that_.

"Yeah, I don't think I'll get any more protests anyway." Ironhide says. "Oh, well, we can come back to this game another time. Springer? Mind giving us a servo or two?"

"Of course not."

"Blackout, make sure he doesn't get too loud."

Blackout grabs a piece of cloth — a clean one, thankfully — and presses it against Crosshairs's intake.

"Oi, wha' are ye doin'?! I don'... knock i' off! I..." The rest gets muffled as the rag is shoved into his mouth.

"Can't have you waking the entire cellblock."

"Fuck you!" He manages to mumble through the fabric. 

Crosshairs tries to spit it out, but Blackout's fingers are there to keep the piece of cloth inside his mouth. Then he tries to squirm — not that he can move much, held up as he is — momentarily forgetting the cloth, because Springer's digits slip into his port. It's not enough of an intrusion to cause discomfort, and the nanites have worked to soothe his soreness. It's just unexpected. Then Springer reaches for Crosshairs's array with his other servo, a deft digit putting pressure on his anterior node.

Crosshairs squeaks in a way that is both embarrassing, and a good explanation to why Blackout shoved a rag into his mouth. Springer smirks at him, increasing the pressure, and Crosshairs's digits scrabble in thin air to find purchase that isn't reachable. Ironhide's languorous pace doesn't falter, and Crosshairs has the terrible feeling that he could do this for a very long time.

The digits in his ass curl and wiggle, the pressure against his node is maddening, because while it's enough to drive his charge through the roof very quickly, he needs some friction to get all the way, and there's no way he can get it unless Springer decides to move his finger.

"_Please!_" He sobs through the rag, teetering on the edge, but unable to overload like this.

"Ah, there's the begging." Blackout says matter of factly. "Good thing you didn't take a bet about this, Springer."

"Shut up." Springer says, punctuating it with a curl of his digits inside Crosshairs.

_If he could just..._

He tries to squirm again, but it's utterly pointless, and Crosshairs slumps.

_If they think he has given up, he might be able to steal that overload from the bastards._


	222. Chapter 222

_How did he ever think it would be that simple?_

Of course they're not relaxing just because he slumped, giving him a way to get off. Blackout's servo is as unrelenting as ever around his wrist-struts, Hide is still using him as some sort of jerk off toy, and Springer is keeping that maddening pressure that has him teetering on the edge, and there's absolutely nothing Crosshairs can do to change any of that. He still tries to yank his arms free, because if he's quick when he frees himself, he may be able to at least get Springer's servo to move a bit before they catch him again, and he's fairly certain that it'll be enough.

But alas, Blackout's grip is unbreakable, and the only thing that happens is that his hydraulics protest, and Ironhide's grip on his hips tightens.

"Primus damn it." He groans around the rag in his intake.

"Did he just call someone _Primus?"_

Springer laughs. "Wanna bet about if he means my fingers or your cock?"

"Didn't you learn anything from the last bet you made?" Blackout snickers. "And you're out of high grade, so that leaves your ass as the only currency."

"Shut up."

"S no' wha' I meant." Crosshairs mumbles.

"You better not scream _Primus's_ name when we make you overload. He has nothing to do with this." Ironhide growls.

_Like it matters what he screams when his intake s stuffed with a rag._

"No, Sir." He says.

"Good little mech. Springer, give him the first one."

Crosshairs doesn't even have time to process that statement before Springer starts flicking his node instead, and he immediately overloads. His charge is so high, the overload makes his optical feed go pixelated, and vocalizer hums with feedback. Crosshairs's back arches, and that makes his hips tilt at a different angle, making Ironhide's spike hit something inside him that makes his valve clench even harder, and he howls into that rag.

He tries to squirm away, because the stimulation to his node doesn't let up, and it's too much, feels really weird, and a bit uncomfortable. It's impossible though, and Springer keeps rubbing his node, making his overloads last longer. He thinks that he squirts again, but he can't really be sure, close to falling into reboot.

The reboot eludes him when Ironhide just keeps his rhythm, and Springer finally backs off, drawing circles around his node without touching it, stroking his valve-lips to keep his charge going. Crosshairs valve pulses lazily in aftershocks.

"You will have two more before we're done." Ironhide decides.

_Two! He can't, it's impossible. He's completely ready to go into some relaxed afterglow, spent and strutless, and his array is way too sensitive for more. Not that Ironhide's spike inside him feels bad, he can take that for a while longer, but that his charge would rise again now is impossible. _

"I can' 'ave more." He mumbles through the rag, which in hindsight probably was a very good idea.

"Yes, you can. You just don't know it yet, because you've always been fucked by unskilled losers before." Ironhide's voice brokers no argument.

"'m spent."

"Fuel-levels?"

He checks it in his HUD. "Fifteen percent!"

_He has really burned through his fuel, he was at forty when he left his old cell what seems like ages ago. Did he sleep through one day and they started over again without telling him?_

"Should be enough, but tell us if you get into the red zone. I think we have some sweets or something else to power you with." Springer says, flicking Crosshairs node again.

He squeals, because it's pleasure, but too much pleasure, something he thought was impossible. Springer starts to stroke his node with light touches, and that's more tolerable, but he still can't believe his charge will rise. His digits scrabble in thin air again when Springer increase the pressure, and Crosshairs whines.

Springer backs off again, circling around his node before laying his digits flat along Crosshairs's valve-lips. He scissors his digits, spreading Crosshairs open.

"Thought you might like this view, Hide, to see him all split open by your cock." 

"Yeah, I can see him drooling, and how wet my spike is from all his lubricant."

Crosshairs flushes again, but his valve clenches of it's own accord.


	223. Chapter 223

Once that oversensitivity goes away — which is quicker than he thought it would be, Springer really balances on a fine line with the stimulation, and makes it enough to start building a new charge, while not pushing too much too fast — his charge builds up again surprisingly fast. Crosshairs is well on his way to his next overload.

_And incoherency. Fucking pit, how can Hide keep that pace for so long without tiring? Or overloading... Hide already has had him three times though, so maybe that's the explanation?_

Crosshairs's legs are hanging limply, because with the way Hide is still using him as a cock sleeve, it's useless to try to wrap them around Hide's hips to keep them up, so he lets his frame be limp and pliable for them to position as they see fit.

"He's kind of like a doll right now. Want us to do something to get him more animated?" Blackout asks.

_He's not a fucking doll! He's just tired, and moving around is pretty useless. And it _is_ kind of easy to just let them do what they want and bring him the pleasure without having to make much of an effort himself._

"Sounds good. Got any ideas?"

"Puppeteering?" Blackout suggests.

Springer snorts. "You're such a dumbass."

_What the..._

"Wha's puppeteering?" He asks.

_And hey, someone removed the rag and he didn't even notice._

"You know what a puppet is, right? You know, those little puppet plays for younglings..."

"Yeh?"

"You know how they make the puppets move their arms, or their intakes?"

"Yeh?"

...

_Oh._

_Oh!_

No more hanging limply like a doll. Crosshairs flails around as much as he possibly can with his servos still held by Blackout, and Hide holding him up by his hips.

_He's not taking a servo, and Primus knows how much of an arm up his aft! _

"Who's the dumbass now? You're welcome, boss."

"Don't worry. My servo isn't that big." Springer purrs soothingly, adding another digit into Crosshairs's port.

The opening is relaxed, and it doesn't feel bad, but it makes him squirm even more.

_Big or not, he's not going to have an entire servo back there! Is he?_

"Please don'! I don' wan' tha'!"

Ironhide cocks an optical ridge. "You did get a specific word to use if you _really_ want out, remember?"

_Right! He totally forgot. But will they even care, and listen to his wishes? Why is he more afraid of the disappointment he will feel if they don't listen, than the fear of the actual act itself? _

_It doesn't matter. He doesn't want a servo up his aft._

"Prime."

Ironhide immediately stops, Blackout's grip loosen a bit, and Springer's digits halt their movements. 

"Do you want us to stop alltogether, or is it something very specific you want to avoid?" Hide asks seriously.

"No servos up my ass, please. Sir."

Ironhide snickers. "But the rest of the things we're doing is fine?"

"Yeh?"

Ironhide grins, looking feral. "As you were then, my mechs."


	224. Chapter 224

It's even easier to let go, to let himself get fully into what they're doing now that he knows that he can stop them if he doesn't like it. 

_He always went along with everything mechs wanted to do with him before, but even if the brothers are doing more kinky stuff than anything he remembers trying at some point, this feels less derisively degrading somehow. Not that he can really process it right now, but he will think about it when he has a chance._

Crosshairs's charge kicks up another notch along with his fans when Springer does a stroking motion across his node, breaking the pattern of smaller and smaller circles. Crosshairs gasps, writhing in Ironhide's and Blackout's grips.

_So fucking close!_

"What do you say, Prez? Should we give him another one? He's moving a lot more now, so maybe he earned it?"

"I suppose you're right. Go ahead, give it to him. He still has one to go after this one."

_He can't, can he? But then again, he thought he wouldn't be able to have a second one, yet here he is, craving another release._

Springer increases the pressure a little with every stroke, and Crosshairs's hips twitch in time with the touches.

_It's so fucking intense, bordering on too much._

Ironhide changes the angle, getting deeper, and Crosshairs's valve lights up with the slide over a few nodes previously left untouched by the thick spike. 

_Oh, how he wants to dig his digits into those sensitive cables just under his chest-plates, and stroke along the seams right now, and tease his headlights. _

But Blackout's grip is still unyielding, and all he can do is wiggle his digits pathetically. He makes a sudden jerk, trying to surprise the big Helo and break the grip, but he's unsuccessful.

"Nice try, little Bot." Blackout rumbles in amusement.

_Maybe he can try begging for more stuff? They seem to respond well to his pleading..._

"Please, Sir, touch me."

Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "Isn't Springer good enough?"

"'e _is_! But I... Please, touch my chest-plates! Sir."

Blackout grins, showing off all those sharp denta, and it sends another thrill down Crosshairs's back-struts. 

"Well, you did ask nicely... What do you say, Hide? Has he earned it?"

"You know, I think he has."

Blackout's big servo is splayed across his ventral plating, sliding up over his chest-plates, all the way up to Crosshairs throat. Crosshairs's spark flips when Blackout wraps his servo around his throat, almost reaching all the way around, and squeezes lightly. The Helicopter grins like cyberwolf, flashing those sharp denta again.

"Such a good little bitch."

Then his servo slips down to Crosshairs's chest-plates again, and Crosshairs's spark speeds up when sharp talons extend, easily slipping into the seams, finding sensitive cables and wires.

"I don't need to teek your field, I can _smell_ your arousal from here." Blackout smirks.

Crosshairs flushes.

"Cute how he still becomes embarrassed by things like that." Springer snickers.

"Yeah, and he's obviously turned on by a little bit of danger." Blackout notes, toying with the cabling to Crosshairs's chest-plates in a way that borders on painful, that could easily do harm with just a little more force.

Crosshairs's valve clenches hard.

_He can say 'Prime' and stop them, but he really doesn't want them to, he _wants_ them to continue. _

He pushes up against the servo, wanting more. Blackout obviously understands the silent plea, because he continues to pull at the cables, and Crosshairs lets out a breathy moan.

Then Springer increase the pace of the stroking on his node, and Crosshairs teeters on the edge for just a second before his entire frame bucks when he overloads.

"I'll take it from here." 

He hears Ironhide say it, but it's distant, and he can't really process it, and he's just vaguely aware of Springer's digits disappearing, Blackout's claws retracting. Then the grip around his wrists is gone, and his back hits the mattress, but he's still overloading, so it feels unimportant.


	225. Chapter 225

All his systems feel frazzled, because they were getting ready for a reboot, but Ironhide continuing to fuck him forces everything to keep going instead, emergency halting the reboot. It's not dangerous — everything will reset when he is allowed to go to recharge — but it feels weird, and for long moments everything seems to be hitching.

"You ok, little mech? Your optics are flickering, and your power seems to be fluctuating."

"'m f'ne." Crosshairs grinds out, his vocalizer hitching too. 

"If you get warnings in your HUD — about _anything_ — tell me."

"Yes, Sir." His voice is steadier already.

Ironhide's pace is languorous; long, slow thrusts that nudge Crosshairs's ceiling node every time he's fully hilted. It keeps some of his charge from going away, and his systems tingle from it.

It makes him crave another overload, and he _wants_ the charge to be built up again.

_How can he need more, how can his frame crave it when he felt so spent after the other overloads?_

His thoughts are interrupted by Ironhide grinding against him, the head of Ironhide's spike pushing against the opening to his gestational chamber in a way it hasn't before. Crosshairs squirms, because it is a bit uncomfortable.

"I hope your bolt is well fastened. Wouldn't want to knock it all the way into your chamber."

"Blackout didn', an' 'e's bigger than you." Crosshairs says, not realizing how snarky it sound until it's already out. 

Ironhide grins. "Ouch. Am I too small for you? I mean, I could just stop..." He says, starting to pull out.

"I didn' mean tha' ye're _small!_ Jus' tha' 'e's even bigger, Sir! Please, don' stop, Sir."

Even if it's just a low charge, it's enough to make him eager to not sit around and wait for it to taper off, he wants it built up again and released.

_He's such a horny, needy slut, craving cock._

The thought makes his valve clench around Ironhide's spike.

"What was it that made that happen?" Ironhide says cocking an optical ridge.

"I... uhm... I though' tha' I'm such a needy slut." Crosshairs mumbles, embarrassed by his filthy processor, and by being turned on by something like that.

"That you are."

Ironhide suddenly slams in as deep as possible, holding still. Crosshairs squirms at first, because it puts uncomfortable pressure against his ceiling node, but then that somehow disappears, and it feels better.

_It would feel even better if Hide started to move again._

Then he feels very full, but it takes just a second for him to know what's going on this time.

_Hide is knotting him._

The fullness increase, stretching his calipers, and the spike inside him presses against every single node inside in a way that does get his charge to climb slowly.

_He wants more_.

Crosshairs doesn't hesitate to reach for his array, digits sliding over his node before he strokes what little of Hide's spike he can reach, exploring where they're joined. He feels the way his rim is stretched around the spike, but he manages to get the tip of his digit inside. 

It's impossible to feel the knot though, it's hidden inside the first set of his calipers, and it's impossible to breach those, stretched to full capacity as they are.

He pulls out again, focusing on stroking his node, and Ironhide doesn't seem to mind, because he doesn't do anything to stop him. The spike inside him seems to stop swelling, and Ironhide grunts, optics going brighter. Crosshairs feels the slow pulsing that indicates that Ironhide is overloading, filling him up with transfluid.

_It's filthy, and it turns him on._

Ironhide rolls them, Crosshairs winding up straddling Hide. He doesn't stop stroking his node, his charge creeping upwards again.

"Look at me when you do that."

Looking Ironhide in the optics while pleasuring himself makes him feel very exposed, and Crosshairs flushes. Ironhide smirks, clearly noticing it, but he doesn't comment on it.

"Want me to take over?"

"Yes, please, Sir."

_It's much better when someone else does it for him._

Big servos slide up his thighs, and it makes his valve twinge in anticipation. Then Ironhide's skilled digits push his out of the way, expertly circling his node.


	226. Chapter 226

_He really enjoys being on top._

It's not that he hasn't been on top before, but he never really thought it was anything special. Not until tonight. 

_And isn't it ironic that he had to go to prison to find out how much he really enjoys facing? His father would hate it. That just makes it even sweeter._

Now, though, he feels so hot, straddling Hide, and it feels good; the way he's filled up, and how Ironhide has easy access to work his node, in spite of it feeling like his valve-lips are glued to Ironhide's pelvic plating. There's just no way to get that fat cock any deeper. He can't really move — considering the knot — not in a way that actually brings him more stimulation, at least, but that doesn't really matter. It's enough with the way Ironhide's spike stretches his valve, and the digits toying with his anterior node.

Springer and Blackout have stretched out on their berths, lazily looking at what they're doing.

_It's not much of a show with him just sitting there, Ironhide's servo the only thing that's really doing any work..._

"Ye know, I'm so full, the transfluid is startin' te trickle out 'round Hide's spike." He says to the audience, rolling his hips what little he can.

"Doesn't surprise me." Springer says, smirking. 

"Maybe it's just your lubricant? You're an awfully wet little creature..." Blackout adds.

He snaps his helm around, staring down at the fluid dribbling out where they're joined, running down Ironhide's plating, and Blackout laughs when he flushes.

_It's a mix of both lubricant and transfluid._

"You know, with that field of yours being so very tantalizing, I'd love to have another go. It's almost a shame I knotted you, because if I hadn't, I could have fucked you again."

"Can't get it up?" Springer snarks.

"Like you can get yours up before the reservoir is starting to fill up again when you've drained it completely. Or maybe you can't get your knot to swell, so you've never actually tried it?"

"Fuck you!"

"Oh, baby, you just promise stuff, but you never come through!" Blackout moans exaggeratedly, arching his back.

Pillows are thrown back and forth a couple of times, and Crosshairs shakes his helm.

_Dorks._

"Blackout is right, though." Ironhide's voice is strained. "You really are a wet little slut."

"I's yer fault!" Crosshairs squeaks, mortified.

"Really?! _My_ fault?" Ironhide punctuates it with a harder flick of Crosshairs's node, making his hips buck what little they can.

"I...uhm, all yer faults, Sir. Ye jus' make it so good fer me..." Crosshairs grinds out, because it's very hard to think and speak when Ironhide is repeatedly stroking his node just _so._

Ironhide makes a non-committal noise, bucking up against Crosshairs. Not that it makes any difference for how deep he gets, but Crosshairs grabs on to the big mech's ventral plating, digging deep into the seams.

"Mh, just like that. My sensory circuits aren't very sensitive, but when you grab like that, it feels really good." Hide grunts.

Crosshairs digs in harder, drawing a moan from Ironhide. Ironhide retaliates with a rough circle on Crosshairs's node, and Crosshairs mewls, valve pulsing as he suddenly is on the edge of overload again. Transfluid and lubricant gushes out with the contraction, and he flushes again.

_Wet and filthy._

He overloads hard, bucking against Ironhide, digits digging in even deeper. The overload stretches out, as if the long build up, and all his previous overloads makes this one deeper, and more powerful, and it seems like it lasts forever before he slumps over the Warframe.

Not that he can move, Hide's spike is still stuck inside him, still pulsing more transfluid into him, so Crosshairs just lays there, fans on full blast to cool his frame, valve drooling.

"Wettest little slut ever."


	227. Chapter 227

He's completely spent, and really just wants to fall into recharge, but he doesn't allow himself to nod off. Instead, he sits up again, feeling very awkward.

"So... What do ye wan' me te do?" He asks, rolling his hips a bit.

_There's definitely not another overload to wring out of his frame, but it feels kind of weird to just sit there and wait for Hide to finish, as if he's just a receptacle now that he has gotten off._

A thick digit trails the seams in his chest-plates, making Crosshairs spark do a nervous flip. Ironhide's optics roam his frame.

"I've got a very pretty view here, so how about you stroke your headlights?"

It's a simple request, and nothing embarrassing. Crosshairs slides his servos up his ventral plating, up to his headlights, and circles the components with the tips of his digits. Ironhide slowly runs his servos up and down Crosshairs's thighs, bright optics locked on where Crosshairs is toying with himself.

_He feels so sexy. Not that he's really getting charged, but still. If he wasn't so creamed up already, then maybe he would be able tell if he's going slick._

Crosshairs arches his back to give an even better view of his front, flat-palming his headlights with slow strokes without breaking optic contact. Ironhide groans, bucking up, even if he's already hilted as deeply as possible.

"Open your chest-plates. I want to see more of you."

Crosshairs freezes, spark speeding up.

_He has never done anything like that, and he's pretty sure it would be a terrible idea to bare himself like that, making himself vulnerable. But he doesn't exactly have a way of getting away from it. Or does he?_

"Prime."

"I'm not meaning that you have to bare your spark or anything. Just open your chest-plates, and show me your chamber, toy a little with the sensitive wiring in there. If I wanted to hurt you, I've had so many chances already, I wouldn't have to ask you to open up for that. But it's entirely up to you." Ironhide murmurs.

_Hide does have a point. The Warframe could probably pry his chest-plates open without much effort. And it's just a show..._

It takes him a few seconds to find the command to open them, as it's the first time, but then they slide apart, revealing his deeper components. Suddenly feeling shy, Crosshairs covers the petals of the opening of his spark chamber with his servo.

"Show me."

Taking a deep vent, he lets his servo drop, resting it on his ventral plating. Ironhide groans approvingly, then he reaches out. Crosshairs holds his vents. Ironhide's digits slide along a wire, just a featherlight touch to a very sensitive component, and Crosshairs lets out a low moan, and his valve throbs dully. Ironhide maps out a few more cables and wires, before drawing circles over the plates still protecting his spark. Crosshairs grabs Ironhide's abdominal plating to steady himself.

_It feels so good._

"Take over. I want to see you do this to yourself."

His fingers tremble slightly when he reaches inside his chest-plates, touching components that he hasn't touched before, and a groan leaves his vocalizer when he realizes how sensitive he is there.

_He can't overload again, not now. But he wishes he could._


	228. Chapter 228

His vents are short and shallow, and his spark is spinning quickly behind the thin plates that are the only thing separating his spark from Ironhide's digits.

_So close to the one thing he would've hesitated to let anyone touch, had anyone asked. Yet here he is, with his chest-plates open, and now he's curious. Not curious enough to ask for more, though. The spark is supposed to be saved for his mate. So was his valve, really, but the spark is different. If he asks for that, they would get a bond, and it's so much more than just another type of interfacing, that much he remembers from the interface education._

But the way Ironhide's toying with his spark chamber has thrills of pleasure and nerves traveling down his back-struts is tantalizing, and even if he doesn't dare, he's definitely intrigued.

_If he's that sensitive with his chamber still closed, what would it be like to merge? _

Ironhide traces the seams in the opening of his spark chamber again, and Crosshairs's valve clenches of it's own accord.

_His Sire should see him now, straddling an MTO, getting so much cock, he can't even get it out, chest-plates open... It would be even better if his Sire's friends, foes and voters saw him. The slutty little prison bitch, doing what he knows best._

The pressure from Ironhide's digits increase, and Crosshairs's spark does another nervous flip, because it reminds him of how vulnerable he really is right now.

_Has been the entire night, small and at the mercy of the three Warframes. He just forgot it, because they made him feel safe._

Ironhide's servo slips down, leaving his chamber, and rolling a sensitive cable between his digits instead, modulating the pressure perfectly. Crosshairs whines, grinding against the big mech. Ironhide smirks, letting his servo slip down to Crosshairs's array instead, exploring where they're joined.

"I'm finished. Do you want me to give you another overload?"

_It could be a trick question, and even if Crosshairs says 'yes', it doesn't mean that Ironhide actually would _do _it, just that he wants to know. _

But the charge he's running isn't enough to actually make him crave another one, and Crosshairs is tired, so _very_ tired.

"I'm good, actually. Ye've all fucked me so thoroughly already. I've overloaded more an' 'arder than I ever thought I would." 

Ironhide grins. "Good. You do take it in a very good way. I'm inclined to think you're right: you probably are the best lay in this place."

Crosshairs almost makes a face when he thinks about that.

_How clueless he was back then, and it's just days ago, even if it seems like a lifetime._

"You know, Roadie and Motormaster are going to want to seal this deal tomorrow, so you probably should rest."

Crosshairs tries to lift off Ironhide's cock, the component not pulsing with overload anymore, now that he thinks about it. 

It's impossible, the thing is still too thick inside him, the knot still hooking inside the first row of calipers. Crosshairs doesn't panic, but his spark does make another flip, because he doesn't know how this is supposed to work.

_Blackout just slipped out when he was done, and wouldn't it be mortifying if the guards came to let them out and he'd be stuck like this?_

"I can' ge' off!"

"I think you've proven quite capable of getting both yourself and us off."

"I don' mean like tha'!"

"Oh." Ironhide says, face-plates innocent, but there's a teasing grin in his voice. "You're right, though. My knot does take a long time to let go, I usually fall into recharge before that happens. So I guess you better just settle in."

...

_Should he be mad about this? It feels like he should be indignant, even if he made a deal saying they can have him however they want. But then recharging on top of Hide sounds kind of nice, actually..._

He makes a show of slamming his chest-plates shut. "Ye could've tol' me tha' before." He snips.

"Oh, I most definitely could. But then I'd miss this little tantrum."

Crosshairs sticks his glossa out in a fit of childishness.

Ironhide rumbles a quiet laugh, then he pulls Crosshairs forward to slump over the bigger mech again.

"Good night, little slut."

Crosshairs pushes back against the heavy arm to at least seem to fight it for a few seconds before he goes limp, relaxing.

_It's kind of nice actually._

"Good night, Sir."


	229. Chapter 229

"I was out like a light jus' minutes later, but come mornin', Hide wasn' stuck inside me anymore. I was still tired, but Roadbuster and Motormaster wanted their fair share too, so I 'ad te mech up an go at it again. They made it worth my while though..." Crosshairs stares wistfully into the distance.

_It's a lot to take in, because the way the first three treated Crosshairs was unexpected. Sure, they were pushy, and didn't exactly ask before they did something, but rather showed what they meant first, but for being three interface starved thugs with a new bitch — just Crosshairs's presence in that cell would be seen as given consent by many, maybe even by himself at one point — they certainly seemed to pay attention to what Crosshairs thought about it. But safewords and overloads or not, they still used Crosshairs, and some parts did feel uncomfortable._

"But they were degrading, and really showed you that you're nothing but a fuck toy."

"Ye know, I'd never felt as attractive, important and powerful as I did when I was accepted by them. They all wanned me, an' weren' afraid te tell me tha', an' they brought me stuff from the commissary, an' gave me contraband. Nobody ever gave me anythin' before. An' when I le' them use me, their position of power strengthened amongst the other inmates. I was one o' the things tha' made the others respect 'em."

"How does that even work?"

Crosshairs world view is a bit skewed at times, and Barricade can't see any way a fuck toy could ever be powerful.

_Even if he technically had the power to stop their games. If the safeword would work every time, because they could just ignore something as simple as a word if they decided that they wanted what Crosshairs didn't willingly offer._

Crosshairs smirks, and then he starts a que of memories he has been arranging while they talked.

He's back in the washracks again, scrubbing his frame. There's others there as well, and Crosshairs is a bit wary. Sure, he's affiliated with the Autobots now, but they're not here, and he doesn't know how it will work yet, it's still the early days of his new role. 

The door opens, and Ironhide and Roadbuster comes in. Crosshairs feels relieved, but when they both stride up to him, his spark makes a nervous flip, because maybe he broke some unwritten rule or something? They do wear those stony expressions that only relax when they're alone without prying optics.

Ironhide plants a servo on his chest-plates and pushes him until his back hits the wall. The water is pelting down on both of them, and Ironhide ogles his frame before reaching for his array.

"Is my little slut getting clean?" He asks, pushing two digits into Crosshairs's valve without preamble.

"Y-yes?"

_Everyone is looking. Not directly, but he can feel them watching from the corners of their optics. It's embarrassing and arousing._

"Get on your knees, bitch. I want those pretty lips around my cock."

He sinks to his knees and opens his mouth, allowing Ironhide's heavy spike to slide over his glossa, and he forces the back of his intake to relax to allow it to go in deep. Roadbuster flips his coat to the side and nudges his knees apart, grabs his hips, and pushes in to the hilt. He isn't really prepared, but he's still slick from last night's fucking, so it doesn't sting too badly.

"Frag, Prez, you really got us a good little bitch." Roadbuster grunts.

"I always do. Hear that, slut? You're ours, and we'll do you how ever we damned well please." Ironhide says mockingly.

Crosshairs hums an affirmation around the spike in his intake. The audience is watching more openly now, and it's getting his charge going.

"He's getting really wet." Roadbuster groans.

Ironhide just grunts, rutting into Crosshairs's mouth, and the combination of his embarrassment for the audience, and the slick slide of a spike over his inside nodes makes him shudder through an overload. Crosshairs manages to stifle a moan when Roadbuster slams in deep and spills his transfluid deep inside their little bitch. Ironhide pulls out and shoots his load across Crosshairs face, and he hears the audience snickering, someone slow clapping.

"You're _our_ little bitch, so you better not go whoring yourself out to anyone else without my permission." Ironhide says threateningly.

"N-no, Sir." Crosshairs mumbles.

He still stands there, on his knees, when Ironhide and Roadbuster leave the washracks. His disheveled appearance doesn't matter, everyone else has averted their optics. 

_He's publicly claimed. Everyone knows that he's the Bots' bitch._

That gets him moving, hurrying to clean up.

_If he's lucky, one of the other brothers are up for a bit of fun, because he's charged again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been terrible at answering comments lately, and I want to apologize for that. I find myself swamped and I have to prioritize trying to keep this fic going, as I hardly have any time and energy to write at the moment. Every comment is greatly appreciated, and I try to answer as soon as I can.


	230. Chapter 230

He notices the difference after that time in the washracks, the way others aren't ogling him anymore. Being claimed by the Autobots so openly has made the other inmates wary. He still hears the gossip at times, the whispers about how to not cross the Bots, lest you want to be turned into a fuck toy, the rumors about him being too cocky for his own good, and that being the reason for Ironhide asserting his power. He doesn't care what the others think. The only thing that matters is that the brothers want him in their berth each night. And sometimes in the days. And in the washracks at times...

"I have a little mission for you. A job, if you will." Ironhide says.

Crosshairs is stretched out on the berth Blackout favors, reading the list of ingredients on a pack of gels Ironhide bought for him in the commissary, because he has nothing better to do at the moment.

"Me?!"

"Yeah. See, I've made a deal with Black Shadow, and I need some goods exchanged..."

"Okay...?" He says hesitantly, because he has been kept out of the hustle until now. 

_He's just their little conjux, helping them get filthy, and wash up. Not necessarily in that order..._

"I've got some boosters I need to get to him, and he has a bottle of high grade for me."

Crosshairs nods.

"And he's going to fuck you to settle the price difference."

"No, Hide! I don' wan' te do tha'. Please, don' make me do tha'. I'll deliver the stuff, jus' don'... I'm _yers_, all of yers, only yers..." 

_He doesn't even know who Black Shadow is, and he wants to choose his lovers, that's why he made this deal in the first place. And maybe he's getting spoiled, but the brothers are good, and he's really not up for the possibility of having 'bland' now that he knows what 'tasty' really means._

"Come on now, sweetie," Ironhide coaxes, stroking a digit down Crosshairs's side, "I know you're ours. It's just that we need _your_ talent for this. I mean, you enjoy some benefits for being our conjux, and here's your chance to help out with the business. We can't do this, we need someone _pretty_ for this — like you — someone with your expertise. I couldn't send Springer for that, could I? I mean, I'd have to send optic blinders with him so that Black Shadow doesn't have to stare at his ugly aft while doing him."

"Hey! Enough with talking about my aft already." Springer acts offended.

"_I_ think yer aft is really ho', Springer." Crosshairs says, because he really thinks that, and maybe Springer will help him get out of this if he plays his cards right?

"Thanks, sweetie. But you know I'm with Hide on this one. We really need your _help_." Springer coaxes.

"Of course you'll get a ration of the high grade too... I mean, you're doing the work, of course you get paid for that. Let's not fight about this. You can do it. You're so hot, he'll probably shoot his load just looking at you, the fucking loser. And then we can get drunk and make tonight a party..." His servo slides over Crosshairs's ventral plating, down to his interface panel. "You know we'll make sure you enjoy it. Come on, Cross, you're our only chance to get that booze."

_It's so flattering to be needed._

"Alright, I'll do i'. Fer you."

Ironhide grins at him. "That's the spirit. You know we couldn't do this without you, you're invaluable." He leans in to nip at Crosshairs neck-cables, then he licks the bite. "And you taste so fucking good too."

"Tha' may be Roadie's jizz. Don' know if I go' it all out in the shower."

Blackout barks a laugh.

Ironhide rolls his optics. "Well, I can't complain about you being marinated in the cum of me and my brothers. But trust me," he says, licking along another line on Crosshairs's neck, "this taste is all you."

"President kinky!" Blackout snickers.


	231. Chapter 231

Crosshairs spreads his legs, and Roadbuster pushes the wrapped routers into his valve.

"There's a jimmy in there, he better wrap it before fucking you. I'm not whipping that loser's cream."

Then Crosshairs is sent off to Black Shadow's cell, spark spinning nervously as he steps into it. The big mech looks up.

"Hide sent me?"

"Got the goods?"

Crosshairs puts his pede on the berth and opens his panel, pulling it out, throwing it to the mech who's optics have brightened considerably by the blatant display. The mech unwraps it and inspects the routers.

"Do we have to use this?" He says, holding up the condom.

"Yeh. I jus' do wha' they tell me. 'ow do ye wan' me?"

"Bend over the berth." Black Shadow says, rolling the Jimmy onto his spike.

He does, and the mech kneels behind him, lining up with his valve, and slams inside. Black Shadow's fairly big, but the brothers are bigger, so he doesn't have any problems taking it, and the condom is lubed, so his lack of arousal is compensated. Black Shadow starts to rut into him, grunting meaningless, nasty little comments as he chases his overload, and Crosshairs just waits for him to finish. 

_At least the big mech is less gross than Dirge, and he won't have Black Shadow's sauce inside him for the rest of the day._

Black Shadow overloads, and then he pulls out almost immediately.

"You're kind of loose, but I guess that's to be expected when whoring for all of them. Might make things easier for you too." He says, pulling something out from under the mattress.

Crosshairs might've been offended if he didn't know that it isn't as much about him being loose as it is about Black Shadow lacking girth.

"So will you carry it in your valve or your port?" Black Shadow asks.

It's a bottle, and it's a pretty fucking big one. Not bigger than Blackout's cock though, so he'll be able to take it.

"Port." 

_It'll stay inside easier there._

The mech snickers.

"Whatever floats your boat."

He pushes two digits of each of his servos into Crosshairs's port, to pry him open and steer the bottle, and then he pushes his pelvic plating against the bottle to push it inside. Crosshairs bites the bedding, digits digging into it, because it's uncomfortable as all hell to not be prepped, and he's not lubed up either. But the bottle settles, and Black Shadow lets his calipers grab on to it, pulling his digits out. He pats Crosshairs's aft.

"Tell Hide it's a pleasure doing business with him."

Crosshairs slams his panel shut, then he hurries back to their cell as quickly as he can, even if he'd really like to waddle along to keep from jostling the thing inside him. He rushes inside, and throws himself on the berth.

"Ge' it outta me!" He groans, opening his panel.

Blackout grabs the neck of the bottle that's sticking out, pulling. Crosshairs squirms and whines, because the thing makes no sign of coming out of him, and it's uncomfortable when Blackout pulls. Then his spark speeds up with rising panic.

_What if he'll have to go to the medbay to have it removed?!_

"Squat and exvent." Motormaster snorts.

Crosshairs glares at him.

"No, really! I think that'll be easier."

He crawls off the berth and squats, Springer grabbing the bottle. Crosshairs exvents, and _finally_ the thing slips out.

"Congratulations, Hide! You know, this is a real sweetspark." Springer cackles.

They all bark a laugh.

"You did really great, sweetie, you're the mech of the hour." Ironhide murmurs in Crosshairs's audial as he helps him up. "Come on let's celebrate." He says before licking a slow line over Crosshairs's audial in a way that's almost sensual.

_Suddenly, it's all worth the humiliation and discomfort._


	232. Chapter 232

He's alone in the washracks when the creep comes in. Crosshairs just glances at him: looks like some kind of street utility vehicle type of mech, bigger than him, but not as massive as the brothers. He doesn't know the mech's name, because the mech hasn't been in gen pop for that long, but he's wary of him because of the way he tends to look at Crosshairs. He hasn't felt unsafe since he hooked up with Hide, though, so he dismisses the ugly grounder from his interest, and focuses on getting clean.

Crosshairs is entirely unprepared when he's pushed up against the wall, the mech's servos roaming his frame.

"Let go of me!" Crosshairs snarls, trying to elbow the mech and turn around.

"Aaw, don't be like that. I know you just need a good pounding. You'll like it as soon as I'm inside."

"I don'. Gedoff me, I'm already claimed."

Crosshairs is a terrible fighter. He does his best to kick and punch the mech, but when they clatter to the floor, he's on his front with his arm twisted up on his back.

"Ye'll pay fer this!" He hisses.

"You think anyone cares about a bitch? You're just holes to frag." A servo slides up the back of Crosshairs's thigh, and the mech groans as he gropes Crosshairs's aft, servo slipping between his thighs, digits being pushed through his dry and unaroused folds. "Damn, it was too long ago. You're kind of loose, but you'll do."

"Hide's gonna scrap ye fer this!"

"Hide's just another bitch who thinks he is someone. He talks the talk, but he doesn't walk the walk. He hasn't done anything to anyone, and I know him and his crew are just taking credit for stuff others have done. He's too much of a coward to really hurt someone."

The servo wraps around his hip, and Crosshairs struggles as much as he can without dislocating his arm, panic making energon burn at the back of his intake.

_What if the mech is right? What if Hide is just a poser? He doesn't know what Ironhide is really capable of, maybe he just bought into a stereotype, a well executed role-play, and got himself "protection" from someone who's all talk and no business?_


	233. Chapter 233

"Oh, you hurt my feelings." Hide's voice rumbles mockingly from the door to the washracks, heavy pedesteps approaching them.

The mech on top of him is suddenly not there anymore, and Crosshairs scrambles up just in time to see Ironhide throwing him to the floor, pressing his knee down on the mech's throat. 

"See, I'm not much for _staying_ in prison, so I make sure that my retaliations can't be connected to me and make my stay longer. But I guess you're too underclocked to realize. And now you've touched what is mine without even asking. That has a price, you know..."

Ironhide sounds frighteningly reasonable, even as the mech flailing to free himself is starting to panic. Hide holds his servo out.

"Solvent."

Springer hands him a bottle.

"Stuff his vents."

Blackout and Springer grabs sponges and starts to push them into the visible vents on the mech's frame. 

"No, please! What are you doing?!" The mech cries out, struggling underneath the bigger mechs.

"I'm just making sure you don't touch my stuff again."

Ironhide grabs the mech's face, pressing harshly against his cheeks to force him to open his intake, and then he starts pouring the solvent into his mouth. The mech is spluttering and coughing, swallowing repeatedly.

"Pour it down his olfactory vent instead, then he can't swallow it as easily." Blackout says.

Ironhide smirks and grabs the mech's forehelm instead, keeping his helm still, while pouring the solvent into his nose. Blackout stuffs a sponge into the mech's intake. Crosshairs stares as the mech flails in panic, engine stuttering as his airflow is cut off. Crosshairs is frightened, but there's a thread of vindictive glee weaving through his fear.

_The mech tried to rape him, but he's getting what he deserves. Finally someone isn't getting away with treating him like shit, and hurting him._

"Prez, we've been here for too long. Roadbuster says from the door.

The mech's thrashing is down to twitching, and Crosshairs sees when he voids his tank.

"We need to go." Blackout rumbles.

They pull the sponges out of the mech's vents, quickly washing them in solvent before throwing them down the garbage disposal to the incinerator.

"Come on." Roadbuster says, pulling Crosshairs with him, since the Corvette is standing frozen staring at the frame.

"I'd teach you how to fight back, but I can't do it here, the guards will pitch a fit." Springer says. "That was pathetic."

"We can show him in the cell tonight, when the guards are chewing donuts and jerking each other off in their break room." Ironhide says.

Blackout snorts. "Maybe they jerk off _with_ the donuts? And then they eat them."

"I think the play jerk-donut." Roadbuster pitches in.

"What the fuck is jerk-donut?"

"You know, you put a donut in the middle, and everyone stands around it, jerking off. Last one to shoot his load eats the glazed donut."

"Gross!" Blackout cackles.

"Stop talking about donuts, I'm getting hungry." Motormaster grouses.

"Yeah, let's go grab some energon. The lunch room is open now." Blackout says.

It's such an absurd conversation, Crosshairs starts to cackle almost hysterically. 

_Today's scheduled activities: almost getting raped in the washracks, watch someone get killed, and make crude jokes about the guards. And then we have lunch..._


	234. Chapter 234

"'e didn' deactivate, though. The guards found 'im jus' in time, an' the medics managed te keep 'im functional. Well, at least until 'e was back in gen pop, then 'bout a month later, 'e was stabbed an' leaked out. Guess 'e 'ad made more enemies than friends. Never bothered me again, though." Crosshairs says out loud when he feels how conflicted Barricade is about the entire ordeal.

_On one servo, the mech was a rapist bastard. On the other, they tried to _murder_ a mech, and now he knows more about what Ironhide and his crew are capable of... They didn't seem to have any second thoughts at all._

"Anyway, ye'll see why I'm no' very negative 'bout crooked law enforcement mechs."

That catches his attention, but he's immediately thrown into a memory as it starts.

"I have a job for you. Really important one." Ironhide says.

"'k." Crosshairs answers without hesitation.

"We've gotten a guard to help us a bit, so well really get some fine goods to trade, and to have ourselves. But I need a mule..."

"'k." 

Ironhide grins. "You're such a good little mech. I'm glad that we decided to try you. Anyway, he'll take you to an interrogation room, you do what he wants, he'll give you some things that are ours, and you bring them back. Really simple."

"Anythin' fer ye, Hide." Crosshairs purrs.

"And that's one of the things I really like about you. Here, top up with coolant. Mech said you'll need it."

His levels are already good, but if that's what's needed, he's not going to protest. He downs one of the bottles immediately, and then half of the other, feeling his tank slosh in an uncomfortable way. He still manages to drink it all before the guard shows up.

"Let's go, Crosshairs." The guard says from the door, and Crosshairs gets up from his spot on the berth.

He's led down the walkway, through the rec area, and towards the block with the interrogation rooms. It's evening, and the interrogation ward isn't used at the moment, so they're alone in the hallway. He's led into one of the rooms, and cuffed to the table.

"The cameras are off, and nobody will be in this unit at this hour. I'll be back in a while."

Crosshairs nods, a bit apprehensive, because he has no idea what's expected of him, and there's still room for the guard to not honor whatever agreement he has with Hide. Left alone with his thoughts, Crosshairs tries to not let his nerves get the better of him while he waits for the guard to come back.


	235. Chapter 235

Crosshairs is about to explode by the time the guard gets back.

"I need te go te the maintenance room. Please, Sir." He says as deferentially as he can while fighting with his desperation — because he wants to go yesterday, but he's also aware of how the guards hate to feel like they're being ordered around, and attitude from the inmates, so he tried to not press the issue too hard — standing from his seat to press his legs together. 

"I figured as much. You're a grown mech, though, so I think you can hold it a few more minutes."

Crosshairs makes a face, because he's certain that he can't, he's even doubting his ability to actually make it to the maintenance room, even if he was allowed to go there immediately.

The guard is plucking with the things he brought when coming back, not really doing anything productive. 

_Just fiddling, really, in an unnecessary way._

The humiliating, horrible reality dawn's on Crosshairs.

_The mech is waiting for him to lose control, and wet himself. He doesn't just want Crosshairs to beg and plead for relief._

"_Please,_ Sir! Jus' let me go te the maintenance room..." He whines, barely stifling the sob that's threatening to escape him. 

_He's not going to break down like that too, it would just be another level of humiliation._

"You can do it. Just a few more minutes..." The guard says, watching him with bright optics.

Crosshairs whines, squirming where he stands, pressing his thighs together.

_He can't win this. He'll stand here until he pisses himself, and there's no way getting out of it._

In spite of knowing that it's a losing battle, he can't get himself to give in and let go. Something deep inside him keeps Crosshairs fighting to hold it, the last dredge of hope that the mech will find it enough and allow him to keep what dignity he has and let him go to the maintenance room.

Of course the mech doesn't. Instead, he watches, riveted, while Crosshairs squirms and writhes, repeatedly denying the requests to void his primary, ignoring the warnings about the levels.

Then the overflow gauge activates, and there's nothing he can do anymore. He feels his face-plates flush as hot as the stream of fluid trickling out through the seams of his panel, running down his legs to splash onto the floor. He presses his lip-plates together to keep them from trembling, determined not to start crying on top of this mortification, but he can do nothing but awkwardly stand there and wait for his tank to empty itself.

The guard has pressurized his spike, slowly stroking it as he watches with bright optics. He crawls onto the table, kneeling over Crosshairs's still cuffed servos, and then he leans back to hold his cock out for Crosshairs.

"Suck my spike."


	236. Chapter 236

Crosshairs hasn't been this unwilling since Dirge, but it's not like he has much of a choice. At least the mech is honoring Hide's demand for a jimmy, so he won't be forced to swallow the mech's jizz. It's still gross.

_For the brothers. And for the things he'll earn, at least there's always something in the deals for him too._

It doesn't take much finesse to get the mech off, he's so charged by watching Crosshairs wet himself, it's just a few bobs of his helm, then the mech is trembling through his overload.

"That was good, pleasure doing business with Hide. Clean the floor, then I'll take you to the washracks back here, and then you'll get the goods."

He's uncuffed and handed rags and a trash can, and Crosshairs starts to wipe the floor, flushing from embarrassment as it reminds him of what happened here. When he's done, he's led into a small washrack, but no matter how much he scrubs himself, he doesn't _feel_ clean. It doesn't help that the guards is watching — leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and bright optics riveted to Crosshairs, and his field tells the Corvette that the guard is getting aroused by watching him — so he gives up when he can't find any visible traces of his shame.

"These are the items. What should go where?"

A big bottle of high grade, a pack of what is most likely drugs, and a sheathed knife that makes Crosshairs's spark flip. It's a sturdy sheath, but still... _He's going to have a knife inside him._

"Bottle in my aft, the other stuff in my valve." He says, bracing his lower arms against the wall.

The guard pushes the things inside him, a discomfort he's getting used to. 

_No wonder Motormaster said it was a deal breaker if he could take cock up his ass without much prep. They usually do prep him, but for this, it's necessary to be a bit loose. Good thing they all have big dicks and fuck him regularly._

He closes his panel, and then he's taken back to the cell.

Crosshairs flops down on his back on one of the berths, opening his panel and spreading his legs, and Ironhide pulls the goods out of him.

"Nice!" Blackout says, inspecting the knife.

"You know if we got a tap for the bottle of high grade, we could leave it inside him and just have the neck poke out to be able to pour it. Would be the fanciest and hottest bottle stand in this state." Springer says when the bottle slips out of Crosshairs.

"Then you'd have to make do with fucking his mouth, because your dick isn't going anywhere near the high grade." Blackout rumbles.

"Yeah, you're right. Scratch that plan. It would be kind of funny, though."

"One day, when we're out of here, and have a few more sluts around, we will do that." Blackout promises.

_Does that mean that they want to keep him around even when they're free?_

"Hey, did everything go well?" Ironhide murmurs in his audial. "You're awfully quiet."

"Yeh, i's just...ugh." Crosshairs jumps up from the berth, still feeling filthy, and embarrassed just thinking about what just happened.

_He can't tell them!_

"You did really well. We couldn't have done this without you. You'll get your share of the high grade, of course." Ironhide praises him, wrapping an arm around him, rubbing soothing circles into Crosshairs's hip with his thumb.

"He made me pee myself." Crosshairs whispers, feeling his face-plates flush when he thinks about it.

Ironhide snickers. "So he's a kinky fragger? Good to know. See, _nobody_ can gather blackmail material like you can. We're so lucky to have you."

Crosshairs is about to preen, but Blackout cuts him off.

"Seriously, Hide, are you just going to snuggle him, or are you going to get something done, that embarrassed field makes me wish I had three spikes, so I could fuck him in all his holes at once."

"How would that even work? You wouldn't reach." Springer cackles.

"I was with a shuttle once, an' they 'ave these tentacle lookin' thingies for dockin'. The thing is, those tentacles are really sensitive. So I sucked 'is spike, an' 'e fucked me with those. 'oly fuck, I was so full..." Crosshairs tells them, rubbing his legs together for friction, getting slick thinking about it.

"Want us to fill you up now?" Ironhide growls, grabbing his hip more roughly.

"_Please_!" Crosshairs mewls.

When they all surround him, servos pawing at his plating, the unpleasantness of what happened before melts away.

_If they eagerly want him for doing those things for them, he'll gladly do it again._


	237. Chapter 237

Barricade really doesn't know how to react, what to say. On one servo, Ironhide was blatantly using Crosshairs's issues to get what he wants by manipulating the smaller mech. Crosshairs may not have noticed, starved of care as he was, but to Barricade — who may have his own baggage to carry, but has the advantage of seeing this from an outside point of view, and with much more life experience than Crosshairs had at the time — it's obvious that Ironhide knew just how to play Crosshairs to get him to do exactly what Ironhide wanted. On the other servo, he did make sure that Crosshairs didn't get injured in the process, and considering what could have happen — as proved by the incident in the washracks — it may be the better option, no matter how unpalatable it was. But still...

"He didn't renegotiate the deal."

"Wha'? Who?"

"Ironhide. You made a deal where you would be their conjux, and they wouldn't let others fuck you. He never renegotiated those terms before he started... He started selling you."

Crosshairs smirks slowly. "I guess ye're right. But 'e did pay me fer every time by givin' me a share of the payment, so I just saw i' as a bit o' overtime. Call it an extracurricular activity if ye will."

"One hell of a extracurricular..." Barricade mutters, thinking about the intense humiliation in the last memory.

"Yeah, well Hide is generous. Ye know, I never 'ad anyone on the outside to put some money into my account te get anythin' from the commissary. If I wanned anythin' beyond the bland low grade supplied by the facility, it was paid fer by one of the brothers, an' they were generous. This was my chance te give somethin' back. The deal was; they kept me safe, I kept them sated. Everythin' else was extras: they bought me stuff in the commissary, an' 'andled the hustle. I 'andled payment an' transportation of goods, and I go' a share of wha' we kept." 

"I suppose so..."

_It's so different from his own experience with prison, he really can't relate, and even if Crosshairs was manipulated and used, he seems fine with it for reasons that make sense, and not just because he doesn't understand how Ironhide used Crosshairs's weaknesses for his own gain._

Crosshairs laughs. "Ye know, I think I was drunk almost every night for the remainder of the sentence. Things were so much easier with the deal with the guard; 'e gave us 'eads ups when there was goin' te be a shakedown, an' business was easier to 'andle when 'e was on shift an' looked the other way."

"For the small price of you pissing yourself and sucking his spike." Barricade says, making a face.

"I go' used te i'." Crosshairs says, shrugging. "It really isn't tha' bad. I mean, drink a bunch o' coolant, wait fer things te 'appen by themselves. Squirm a bi', act embarrassed, whine 'bout needin' te go... Ye know privacy wasn' a thing in the joint, we 'ad te pee with an audience fer all the drugtest an' stuff, I'm sure ye did too. This wasn' really tha' different when I thought 'bout it. An' 'e was definitely an easy customer afterwards; 'e'd shoot 'is load in seconds. Then I could clean up an' go back te the Bots te get some proper fuckin'."

_It does sound easy, but no less gross for it. He would take a tedious blowjob over that any day._

_Are you really considering how_ you _would pay?! My, your boundaries really have moved lately. How about that ass-knotting? Would you rather take that?_

...

"Anyway, on with the show." Crosshairs says theatrically, and restarts the que of memories.


	238. Chapter 238

It's cleverly orchestrated, the way they're separated from the other brothers. 

They're in the yard, and all of a sudden, Crosshairs and Ironhide are alone in the corner, two other Warframes facing them down. Ironhide steps forward minutely, putting himself between Crosshairs and the other mechs.

"So... _MTO_... You really think a drone should rule this joint?" One of them sneers to Hide.

Ironhide doesn't answer, he just sizes them up, looking very much like a predator eyeing a potential next meal.

"Ridiculous, really. You're just waiting for a new Master your coding can latch onto. Someone to be a bitch for." The other mech mocks.

"You're Warframes too..." Ironhide rumbles.

"Sparked and created from real life mechs. Not constructed to specifications on some _assembly line_, made to fit someone else's needs. Tell me, does it feel good when your Master asks you to bend over for him? I mean, your coding would compel you to comply, but doesn't it make you feel like a good little bot too?"

Something sharp and deadly crosses Ironhide's face.

"Are you just here to ask me to tell you about what kind of _bitches_ your carriers are, or did you want something? Because your _words_ certainly aren't going hurt me..." Ironhide challenges, drawing himself up to his full height.

The other mechs do the same, not backing down.

"Spare yourself some pain and humiliation,_ MTO, _and just hand over that bitch of yours, and any goods you have, and we won't beat you to a pile of scrap."

The slow grin that stretches Ironhide's lip-plates is cold and calculating, and his field flares with sharp lust for violence, a dangerous, hungry need that seems to be ingrained into his core. An energon thirst that comes so naturally, it must be second nature.

"You're _sparked_ Warframes; the product of adventurous sparked little sluts, sneaking into some army base to let some _true_ Warframes have their way with them. That means_ your _coding is a haphazard product of a combination of your creators' coding. _My_ coding, on the other hand, is created with the sole purpose of being as effective as possible in battle. And my battle computer tells me that you two won't come out on top from this. So, do you feel lucky, punks? Or are you too scared to fight me? All talk and no fight, like robochickens." He ends it with clucking like a chicken.

Crosshairs has learned a bit of self defense, the brothers have given him tips and trained him what little they can in the cell, but he's definitely not a fighter, and his spark is spinning out of control when one of the mech sneers hatefully and charges Hide.

Ironhide deflects the hit with one arm, stepping to the side to send the other mech stumbling past him. Hide's optics are bright, and he's actually grinning, as if he's been longing for this, and it's just a funny distraction to pass some time.

"Pathetic!"

The next second, he grunts when the other mech lands a hit against his side, but he returns it with an elbow to the mech's face.

"See, this is where my coding is superior," he rumbles, going on the offensive with a punch to the mech's ventral plating, "you hit where you_ think _my weakest spots are, while I _know_ how to make the most damage." 

He wraps his massive servo around the mech's side, digging his fingers into the plating and then he tears off a chunk of the components there, leaving sparking wires, severed hydraulic lines and leaking fuel lines hanging from the injury. The mech shrieks with a shrill voice and falls to the ground when he loses motor control of his leg. Ironhide straddles him, laughing as he starts punching the mech repeatedly in the face.

"Guess you weren't so lucky after all..."

Crosshairs is just staring, frozen in place, not certain what to do. He's so focused on his certainty that Ironhide is about to kill the mech if the guards doesn't get there soon, he doesn't notice the other mech sneaking up on him until he's grabbed around the neck and pulled back.


	239. Chapter 239

"Hide!" He manages to garble, but Hide's too busy to notice.

Another mech comes up to them, grabbing Crosshairs too.

"Help is coming, but we need to take him down before he gets help from his mechs." The mech hisses to the Warframe who instigated the fight, but was lucky enough to not get Ironhide's full attention once he had been brushed off.

Crosshairs manages to elbow the mech holding him in the ventral plating, and the mech's grip falters.

"Hide, more ass'oles incomin'!" He shouts, and finally he catches Ironhide's attention.

Hide's helm snaps around, taking in the mechs closing in, and since the mech he was gleefully slagging is out cold anyway, he flies to his pedes, quicker than one would anticipate from such a massive mech.

"Really brave to grab the smallest mech around". He says sarcastically, glaring at the mechs holding Crosshairs.

Someone tries to jump Hide from behind when he's distracted, and Crosshairs tries to warn Ironhide, but the grip on his neck has been renewed, and all he manages is a croak.

It doesn't matter; Ironhide seems to anticipate it. He reaches over his shoulder and grabs the mech midair, flinging him over his helm, before landing a vicious kick. The grip on Crosshairs falters, and he can feel in their EM fields how the mechs holding him are losing their nerve.

Then suddenly they're all bowled over when Blackout tackles all three of them at once. There's the sound of rending metal, and an agonized scream when an arm is torn right off from a body, and the melee intensifies, as the initial attackers are turned into prey.

"I may be an MT-fucking-O, but I'm nobody's bitch, servant or pawn! We're Autobots, were autonomous, and you all better fucking remember it!" Ironhide snarls victoriously, before spitting on the mech he just threw to the ground and kicked.

"Yeah!" All the brothers chime in, and some of their hang-arounds too, joining the fight.

Then every single mech in the yard hits the floor when one of the guards finds the panic button that engages all the shock collars.


	240. Chapter 240

When the next memory opens, Crosshairs is sharing the bunk with Ironhide. It's quite the contrast to the other memories, because for once, he isn't being ruthlessly fragged.

It's dark, and quiet, everyone else in recharge, and Crosshairs is tucked under Hide's arm, helm on Hide's shoulder. A big servo is lazily toying with the plates on his hip. He rolls over to his back, allowing easier access to his already bare array.

"Need some more pussy?" He purrs.

"Is fragging really what you want right now?" Ironhide asks, servo slipping between Crosshairs's thighs.

"I like overloadin'..."

Hide is quiet for a while. "Want me to eat you?" He whispers.

"Wha'?"

"You know, oral. Lick you to overload."

"I've never... Wha'? Ye mean my array?"

"No, your digits... Of course I mean your array. Has nobody ever licked you before?"

"No?"

"Fucking pit." Ironhide crawls downwards, trailing little nips and kisses down Crosshairs's ventral plating. "You better be quiet. If you wake anyone up, or you tell someone about this, I'll fragging kill you."

"Why?" Crosshairs hisses, squirming when Ironhide licks the sensitive protoform just above Crosshairs's spike cover.

"Because I don't service my bitches, my bitches serve me." Ironhide sounds annoyed.

He licks the plump lips of Crosshairs valve before ghosting a touch to his node, and Crosshairs's pedes curls, as if they're trying to grab on to the big mech's back in a movement Crosshairs has little control over. Ironhide continues with the frustratingly light licks, and Crosshairs writhes, back arching, servos grabbing on to the bedding. He stifles the noises that are threatening to leave his vocalizer, panting desperately, hips bucking in an attempt to rub against Ironhide.

Crosshairs's servos come up to grab Ironhide's helm, toying with his audial fins haphazardly without any finesse, and he hears a snicker from the tease between his legs as he starts to work Crosshairs's node with his lip-plates.

"Please, please, please..." He hisses as quietly as he can, frustrated in a glorious way.

Ironhide starts to lick the slit of his valve, long, slow drags of his glossa, dipping into his valve, up to do a little twirl around his node, and then starting over again, and Crosshairs's charge is skyrocketing.

His pedes press against Ironhide's back to force the mech closer, his servo grabs that audial horn, and then Crosshairs grabs the pillow and presses it against his face, biting it to keep from squealing when he overloads so hard, his entire frame bucks. He goes limp and strutless when he comes down from his overload, a dopey grin on his face when Ironhide crawls up to stretch out beside him.

"Wow! Do tha' now an' then, an' ye'll 'ave my eternal devotion."

Ironhide grunts. "You give that devotion away way too easily, kid."


	241. Chapter 241

Ironhide leans over Crosshairs to press his lip-plates against Crosshairs's, nipping his bottom lip, before sliding his glossa against Crosshairs's lips to request entrance. 

It's kind of novel, because while it isn't the first time Crosshairs has kissed someone, it's not something he has done a lot — most mechs have been too preoccupied with fucking to care for kissing and stuff like that — and it's the first kiss since he went to prison. He answers it, allows Ironhide to deepen the kiss, tasting himself on Hide's glossa.

_Why is he so surprised to find that the mech is very good at kissing, considering how Hide just demonstrated his skills with his glossa?_

There's an intimacy in the act that Crosshairs finds himself wanting more of, and he eagerly answers the slow rolls of Ironhide's glossa against his.

_Ironhide can put his glossa in his mouth or on his valve anytime he wants._

When they break apart, Ironhide rests his helm on Crosshairs's shoulder, sprawled halfway on top of the smaller mech. The heavy frame pressing him deeper into the bedding makes him feel safe.

"Have you really never had your valve licked before?"

"No."

They fall silent, and Crosshairs starts to drift into recharge.

"G'night, Daddy." He mumbles.

Ironhide stiffens. "What did you call me?"

"Daddy. Ye're everything I could want from my Daddy."

"You want your sire to fuck you?" Ironhide says skeptically, sounding put off.

Crosshairs snorts. "No' like tha'! I mean, ye keep me safe, an' ye tell me when I do somethin' good, an' ye see some potential in me. Like a good Daddy should. Ye're the best one I ever 'ad."

Ironhide is quiet for a while, thinking it through. "You really are a fucked up little mech, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Doesn' matter, as long as ye still want me." Crosshairs mumbles, almost in recharge.

He feels the tightening of Ironhide's arms around him before recharge claims him.


	242. Chapter 242

"Roadbuster an' Motormaster got out first, and then I was let out. They decided te keep me, so I crashed with them in their apartment. Then Hide was let out, an 'e go' this place, an I moved in 'ere with the mechs who wanted te live 'ere. Over the years, Hide has picked up more sluts, but I was first."

Crosshairs sounds so contented, and that's almost the worst part of it, because he literally had every opportunity to have everything at one point, but instead, he's still nothing more than the bitch he was in prison. 

_As if he didn't know how to stop when he got out. _

_He probably didn't. _

"Don't you ever resent it? I mean, don't you wish that you could do something else?"

"Nah. Wha' would I do? I'm no' very smart or talented. This is wha' I'm good at, an' I like the people 'ere." 

"You could be living in a fragging mansion, in one of the best neighborhoods..."

Crosshairs snorts. "Ye know, this _is _a mansion, an' the brothers pretty much own this neighborhood... anyway, tha would jus' be a fancy prison. I 'ave all the same luxuries 'ere, but 'ere I 'ave friends, lovers. Ye know what I'd 'ave been if I'd not been kicked out? Since I'm obviously a valve mech, an' no' clever enough te run the family business or somethin' like tha', I would've been married off te someone of my Sire's choice. I'd 'ave te spred my legs fer someone I didn' choose, an' carry 'is sparklings, and I'd be sittin' alone in 'is big 'ouse, with servant drones and the kids as my main company. I'd 'ave te groom the younglings te fit the mould , while my bonded was away in business, probably spendin' 'is nights with expensive, professional entertainers, because sleepin' around is ok as long as it's the spike mech who does it, seen as somethin' normal. I'd be un'appy te see my kids grow up te be like Perceptor, or like me, an' I'd probably start drinkin', an' poppin' prescription routers."

"Uhm... Sounds dramatic..." _Because it almost sounds like a story Crosshairs has made up and repeated until he is convinced it's the only way it could ever have ended, to convince himself that he's better off now._

"True story. Many times over. Jus' no' _mine_, but I saw enough growin' up te know how the story goes. Percy knocked a couple of Mechs up, but _tha_' was swept under the rug without consequences. The scandal tha' I used protection te be able te safely sleep around, though..."

"If you don't mind me saying so, I _really_ dislike your Sire for the way he treated you for that."

"I've reconciled with it. If it wasn't for tha', I wouldn' be 'ere. I'm with people who like me, an' protect me, an' every time I sleep with one of 'em, it's like a big 'fuck you' te dad, because 'e'd 'ate that I _wanna_ do it with MTOs. An' when the fucking is over, an I get te stay the night in their berths, I know tha' they care. I's in the li'l things with these mechs. They 'ave this thick armor, and ye need te look past it."

Barricade nods slowly.

"It also 'elps tha' my Sire is deactivated." Crosshairs blurts, not sounding sad at all.

"Huh?!" Barricade grunts ineloquently. 

"Politician, ye know. Must've made the wrong enemies, because someone took 'im out. Shot 'im in the helm one day when 'e left 'is office. Good riddance."


	243. Chapter 243

"So wha' 'bout you? I know ye were busted fer corruption, but 'ow did tha' appen? Praxys usually seem te 'ave this built in moral compass tha' stops 'em."

"I've never shared the story, and I think I owe it to Jazz to let him be the first to hear it, if you don't mind?"

Crosshairs shrugs. "Sounds like the right way te do it, since the two of ye are a thing."

"Key notes are: my Sire didn't want anything to do with me, and my Carrier bonded with a drunken loser. He beat me, and when I got old enough, he abused me sexually. The Enforcers finally got him, and I was taken out of there, put in boarding school for orphan younglings for the last few months until I graduated and then I got into the academy. My step-sire was never convicted due to lack of evidence of assault, but at least I didn't have to see him again."

"'e's still functioning?"

"As far as I know... I haven't looked him up since I got out. Anyway, I became an Enforcer, and after a while, I became a bit disillusioned about the justice system. I mean, my step-sire got away with what he did to me, and mechs just using a few routers to get through the day were sent away for close to the rest of their functioning on third strike charges? It felt fucked up. So I started taking bribes to look away when someone was risking a disproportionately long sentence."

"This is why I'm no' tha' negative te crooked cops. Ye did 'elp mechs who really 'ad nothin'."

"Yeah, well I wasn't all good about it, though. I was pushy about what I wanted for payment at times, and I got this power trip from being in charge that was kind of abusive, and I didn't even realize it." He admits.

"But ye're no' tha' guy anymore, are ye?"

Barricade snorts. "No, obviously not. It's impossible to remain ignorant about what I was actually doing with the hand fate has dealt me now."

"Then ye deserve another chance in my opinion."

Barricade nods slowly. "Thank you."

"So... _prison_. Didn' ye find yerself a couple o' ho' lovers te pass the time?" Crosshairs asks conspiratorially.

"I did not. I was put in AdSeg for my own protection, and I stayed in there the whole time. Ex-Enforcers tend to get whacked in gen pop."

"Tha' sucks!"

"Yeah. I met Nitro, though. He was in AdSeg for a while. Offered me to be his and his cellmates' prison conjux. I turned him down."

"Shame. Ye would've 'ad much more fun with 'im, 'e knows 'ow te use 'is equipment. An' Nitro would've been able te pretect ye too, 'e's really vicious in a fight."

"Yeah..." Barricade says, not feeling up to go into the details of why he didn't go along with it.

_And after Crosshairs's story, he's really glad he didn't take the offer. Not that he's going to tell Crosshairs though, that would just be insulting._

"Are the new protocols installed fully yet?" 

"Yeah."

"Then ye should try them. Te practice fer tonight. Want my 'elp, or ye want te do it yerself? Or maybe get Jazz's 'elp?"

"I'll try them myself." _He's had enough of others playing with his aft lately._ "Thank you for all your help, though. And the, uhm, demonstration."

"No problems! We 'oes need te stick tegether."

"Yeah..."

"Grab yerself a couple o' toys from the bottom drawer if ye wan'. May come in 'andy when ye practice."

Barricade flushes, but he does see the point, and he crawls off the berth and opens the bottom drawer. It sticks a bit, and when he pulls harder at it, it jostles the entire chest, some of the toys on top of it falling over the edge. Crosshairs snorts a laugh.

"I really need more storage fer those. Take one with a suction cup at the base. Makes it easier te put it on somethin' an' fuckin' yerself on it."

The bottom drawer is full of brand new toys, still in their packaging. Barricade looks through them, reading the labels, trying to figure out what he should get. He settles for a smooth one, purple with black flames, and a suction cup at the base.

"Uhm, I'll take this one. Thanks."

"Good choice, I really like tha' model." Crosshairs smirks. 

"Why do you have this if you already have one like it?"

"Extras, of course. If I break one... Or if someone is in dire need to get a toy. If ye ever need somethin', just ask. I might 'ave it."

_Of course._..

"Good to know. So, I should get going. Thanks a lot."

"'ave fun." Crosshairs smirks, waggling his fingers.


	244. Chapter 244

"Ya've been with Crosshairs?" Jazz asks with an amused smile when he sees the toy Barricade is carrying.

Barricade snorts, looking att the package again. "Is it that obvious?" 

"Well, he really is tha go-to guy when in need of toys. N' I don' think ya're tha type ta go out shoppin' for one in some sex store, and then not put it in a bag labeled somethin' else than sex paraphernalia."

"Am I really that much of a prude?"

"Maybe not a _prude,_ but ya're kind of private 'bout it. I think it's cute that ya still get flustered by this n' that."

"How about this for being a not quite prude then: today, I've gotten new protocols for the calipers in my ass. To make me better at taking spike."

Jazz nods approvingly. "That's 'nother step towards liberation; ya're claimin' your sexuality. Good for ya!"

_Feels more like shackles and fetters than liberation. He's definitely a pleasurebot now._

_Oh, shut up, whiny brat. It's just a mod, and things could be worse. You should try the toy, maybe now it'll be really pleasurable?_

"Yeah. You know, Crosshairs and I talked a bit about our past, but I want to tell you first. Not that it excuses the way I treated you, but... I want you to know before anyone else." He plunks down on Jazz's berth, putting the box with the toy on the floor, and he fidgets nervously.

"I'd love ta know if ya wanna tell me. But first, I need ta apologize. I'm sorry I wasn' more careful with ya. I got carried away, because I was... I was so thrilled at toppin' ya like that, n' I got a bit of a power kick. It's tha ugly truth, but tha truth nonetheless. I did need ta get done before work, but that ya finally offered yourself up so completely like that was jus'...It went ta my helm, an' I didn' realize that I hurt ya."

"It wasn't your fault. I mean, I asked you to do it, and I never told you to stop, so how would you know?"

"Maybe, but still... I've been forced ta do stuff, I _should_ know when things go overboard. I should've noticed."

"It wasn't good, I won't lie about that, but none of us were communicating properly. I don't hold it against you."

"I'm glad ya don't, but I didn' want ta hurt ya back, n' I really want ya ta know that."

"Your apology is accepted, and I really don't blame you."

"Thank you!" Jazz tackles him, and they land stretched out on the berth. "Now I wanna hear 'bout li'l Cade."


	245. Chapter 245

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of past underage in this chapter.

Barricade has told Jazz about what happened when he grew up, and they lay silently for a while, Jazz atill snuggling up to him.

"Ye know, I can see why ya fell inta your bad habits, why that power went ta you helm. Ta finally be in control after having had none. It's not an excuse, but I get it. N' ya're tryin' ta be better now that ya've realized, n' that's what's important ta me."

"I can't thank you enough for giving me a new chance. I mean, when I showed up straight out of prison, you could've just turned me away, and you didn't. And then I fucked up over and over, and was such an insensitive asshole, and still you gave me more chances."

"I like ye a lot, Barricade. I want ya around, n' I know ya can be better than ya were before, that ya're a good person. I've seen glimpses of it way back, when I figured out that ya like me."

"Yeah, well I've not been very grateful for your patience, while I'm trying to adapt to everything, but I always sort of defined myself by my work, and now that I'm not an Enforcer anymore, then who am I? You know, I need to redefine myself completely. How did you accept yourself as 'Jazz, the pleasurebot'?"

"Well, _'Jazz, the waif'_, n' _'Jazz, the juvenile delinquent'_ wasn' exactly any better, and I don't define myself by something as simple as tha way I make a livin'. I'm much more than that."

_It's actually a much healthier way of reasoning than defining himself by something as flimsy as a profession. He could've been laid off for simpler reasons than he was, or even damaged in the line of duty, forcing him to switch careers. He really _should_ be more than a job._

"So, Jazz the waif?"

"My carrier got himself a new mech n' wanned ta get rid of all tha reminders of his old life. That included me, so he kicked me out. I got by through stealin' fuel, n' scrap mechs had left unattended, n' hustlin' it. Hadn't been upgraded ta a frame with an array yet, I was so young, so when this old dude asked for a handjob, I didn' really understand what I was doin', but he gave me more money than I had ever seen. It was a little weird, but it was the easiest money I'd ever gotten. I almost popped my tank, I bought so much fuel n' jus' gorged that night."

Barricade's spark feels cold in his chest as Jazz reveals his horrible past. For all the crap he lived through, at least he was spared until he was old enough to be considered physically mature, and he always had a roof over his helm.

"I did try ta sell that, but a lot of mechs were really outraged when I tried offerin' that service." Jazz laughs. "I understand why now, I mean, I was a sparkling. But I didn' even understand why grown ups had an array n' I didn', n' I didn' get why what I was doin' was so upsettin'. Got more careful though, a lot of people were contacting social services when I offered, n' they came runnin', lookin' for me. I realized that I had to learn to spot the creeps who might be interested in my services, though. In the meantime, I tried my servo at robbin' people. I wasn' very good at that, it was a disaster. I mean, I was even smaller than I am now, so it was risky. Got beat up more than once, n' chased 'round the neighborhood on foot as I didn' have an alt mode yet."

"Couldn't you've gotten help? I mean, get placed somewhere? I was sent to boarding school to finish when my step-sire was finally found out, I didn't need to go into foster care..." Barricade asks, still cringing inwardly about the way Jazz had made money back then, and the disgusting creeps that didn't hesitate to take advantage of someone in such a vulnerable position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some wonderful art inspired by this fic has seen the light! 
> 
> https://twitter.com/Challengergirl9/status/1260982411531337728?s=19
> 
> https://twitter.com/Zippy_Blurr/status/1261111271577042945?s=19


	246. Chapter 246

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of underage in this chapter.

"I was sent inta foster care a bunch'a times when I was younger, but I really didn' like it, so I tried my damnedest ta not go inta foster again. I mean, some of 'em were pretty nice n' all, but I was always tha outsider. N' some were not nice at all, jus' in it for tha creds."

"Did you even get to finish school?" Barricade asks, because he suddenly realizes how hard it would be for Jazz to ever get into society if he didn't.

"Nah. Was close ta catchin' up when I was in juvie, but my sentence was up, n' I dropped out again when I got out."

"How did you wind up in juvie?"

"One night — I was short on cash as usual, n' I had started ta smoke some pot when I could get my servos on it, so I really wanted a hit — I spotted this creep lurking around, noticed tha way he looked at me, so I thought 'easy money', right? Well, I was fuckin' wrong. Turns out he was an undercover cop, and that's how I got my stint in juvie. It did not help that I was identified by a witness for a robbery too. So I went in there. Then when I got out, I was sent inta foster care, but I split at the first chance I got."

"Had you been upgraded by then?"

"Nah, n' that became an issue pretty soon after, because I was good at keepin' away from the authorities, but that also kept me away from getting a welfare reformat. I didn' wanna go back ta foster care though, so I kept away. My platin' was nowhere near big enough, n' I looked a ridiculous mess — not ta mention that it was startin' ta hurt — when a mech took pity on me. Offered me a reformat n' a place ta stay in exchange of certain services."

Barricade swallows queasily. "What kind of services?" He asks flatly, because he can guess where this is going.

"Started with tha odd handjob while I was still in my kid frame, waitin' for tha upgrades ta be made. It took some time ta have it delivered. N' then, when tha reformat was done, n' I was legal, he wanted interfacin' too, of course."

Barricade makes a face.

"It wasn' _that_ bad. I mean, he was kind of gentle, never hurt me, n' he made it pleasurable for me too when we faced. He had a pretty nice apartment, n' kept me well fueled. It was the best livin' conditions I'd ever had as a free mech up until then — n' more comfy, n' better fuel than juvie — Nmn' he didn' really ask for that much interfacin'. A couple'a times per week. I think he mostly wanned company."

"He was still breaking the law when it started, you were underage. And even if you were legal as soon as you were upgraded, it still wasn't right. I mean, I understand why you did what you did, but I hate that you had to make those choices to get your reformat and everything to begin with."

"Yeah, but it's in tha past, no point in dwellin' on it, because it won't change anythin'. The mech was old, n' had some health issues, so he had a spark attack n' deactivated, n' I couldn' get the lease on the apartment, 'cause I was still not an adult. I had ta leave, or I'd go back inta foster care. Maybe at my age, I would've been placed in a boarding school like you until I was an adult, but I thought I'd go into home fostering again. I really didn' wanna try another family. So I started hookin', because it was the easiest way I knew ta get enough money ta live in motels n' stuff. Pity he didn' live until I was an adult, I might've gotten his apartment."


	247. Chapter 247

Barricade doesn't know what to say. 

_Jazz's childhood really was a mess, but his lover seems to honestly have gotten over it. Or he doesn't realize exactly how fucked up it was, desensitized by the way he lived._ _And later parts of Jazz's life have been far worse, so it isn't strange if the distant memories of this are played down by the fresher trauma. He isn't going to dig further into it, because what would he gain from potentially reminding Jazz of how bad it was at the time? Absolutely nothing._

"Thank you for sharing this with me. You know, I always thought that just because I managed to get out of the situation I was in and get myself an education and a good job, so could everyone else, if they just applied themselves and worked hard. I guess that's why I was always so judgemental. I never thought of how many things could go wrong, or how bad the odds could be. I was lucky to get out when I did, and that was what got me on the right track and kick-started me to get a career. Look how I screwed that up. I was given an opportunity many would've wanted, and I blew it."

"Ya did start out by helping those who needed it, though, with good intentions. Ya jus' took it too far. But then again, I probably wouldn' have met ya if ya didn'..."

"I guess... Well, at least I'm getting to see things from a new perspective now. But you were in your adult frame when I met you. How did you get that upgrade? I remember how hard it was for you to get enough to pay for fuel and a place to stay."

Jazz smirks. "When I came ta tha point I was needin' my reformat, I went ta one of tha free clinics, thought I could mooch it for a bargain prize, n' some regular fuckin'. So I waltzed inta Ratchet's clinic, n' was completely turned down on tha facin' bit. He was smart, though, because of course he appealed for charity components, and since I became an adult with tha reformat, I didn' need ta go back inta foster care when it was done, n' didn' need ta be worried 'bout social services ta come hunt me down. That's why I had that hideous alt mode back then, though. At least it was free."

"I think you were kind of cute..." Barricade teases.

"Shut up! I was boxy, n' slow." Jazz laughs.

"And this frame?"

"Hide paid for it. He's pretty generous ta those who deserve it. And it's a win-win situation, 'cause I'm definitely easier on tha brothers' optics now." Jazz says, wiggling his decidedly hot little frame.

_Because everything is always about them, isn't it?_

"Dreadbot is more scary than cute, though..." Barricade notes.

_And that's something he doesn't really understand, especially if Hide pays for mods and reformats for his mechs if it makes them prettier. Why would they even want to get him into the stable in the first place with looks like that._

Something passes across Jazz's face-plates, and Barricade thinks it's dismay, or maybe pity. "Dreadbot's road here wasn' pretty. I mean, ta me, what Hide offered seemed like a blessin', but for Dreadbot... he wound up here through a mess of hurt feelings, betrayal, fear n' desperation, n' things were very different when he bumped inta tha brothers tha first time. It's his story ta tell, but there's a reason why he looks tha way he does, n' has that alt mode."

Barricade nods and doesn't push for more, even if he's even more curious now. He hasn't seen Dreadbot in his alt mode either.

_Maybe he'll ask Dreadbot about it some day. The way the pleasurebots are protective of each other is very endearing, though._

"So, ya want help gettin' used ta your new mod?"

_He was planning on doing it alone, because he's still not entirely comfortable with it. But then again, this is Jazz..._

"Sure, if you're up for it."

"Ya bet! I'll be better this time, tho."


	248. Chapter 248

Barricade rolls over on his front, opening the control protocols.

_It's odd, feels kind of like a business arrangement to just roll over and get prepared instead of doing some foreplay. _

He just wants to get it over with, though, so foreplay feels redundant. 

_And he should be able to go immediately with this new mod, so he might as well learn to just get going for the occasion when that will be required. Ugh._

He hears when Jazz slicks his spike with lubricant, and Barricade arches his back, tilting his hips to give better access.

"If it's uncomfortable, ya tell me, right? I don' wanna hurt ya."

"Yes, I will tell you. It should be fine though. Maybe go slow? So I have time to get the settings right."

_What a fucking discussion to have._

He feels the head of Jazz's spike against the opening, and he initiates the calipers to open up.

"Ehm, I'm flattered ya think I'm that big, but... I have the head inside ya now."

_He has opened too much, he can't even feel Jazz. _

Barricade flushes at the mental image of his aft gaping around Jazz's spike. He makes his calipers clench.

"Are ya try'na strangle li'l Jazz? Pit, that is tight." Jazz groans.

"Sorry!"

Barricade flicks through the settings, finding that he can preset a pressure of his choice.

"Tell me when it feels good." He says, slowly loosening up again.

"Ah, there! Fuck, ya feel good like this!" Jazz moans.

Barricade saves the pressure setting and engages the automatic control that'll keep the pressure constant even when Jazz starts to move. He marks the setting with _'Jazz'_ for future use, then he does a mental cringe.

_For the next time Jazz wants to fuck him in the ass. As if he wants this to happen again._

_Might as well be prepared for your lover when you let others fuck you like that._

"I'll start ta move now, if that's ok."

"It's fine." 

_What can he say, really? He wants it over with, but it's also a matter of trial and error, because he has no idea how to do this the best way._

Jazz starts to roll his hips slowly, deep languorous thrusts that allows Barricade's new protocols to perfectly calibrate the calipers.

_It feels good, better than he really wants it to feel. He doesn't want to be like that, doesn't want to like this, but the automatic protocols he's running have removed all the discomfort, and that leaves his sensory network free to focus on the pleasure. _

_And is there pleasure!_

The slow slide of Jazz's spike against all the nodes in his port has his charge skyrocketing, and it doesn't take long for Barricade to become a moaning, squirming mess.

"Wan' me ta stroke your spike while I fuck ya?"

_"Please!"_

Barricade lifts his hips from the mattress to give Jazz access, his spike pressurizing into Jazz's waiting servo. Barricade's hips jerk, bucking into that hand, and then he pulls back, meeting Jazz's thrust, and it's so much sensation, much more than he expected.

"I'm close." He grinds out.

"Cum when ya want." Jazz pants. "I'm so fuckin' close too."

Barricade starts rutting into Jazz's servo, meeting the the thrusts into his aft every time he pulls back, and it's not even a minute before he falls over the edge, transfluid spilling through Jazz's digits onto the covers of the berth.


	249. Chapter 249

Jazz has the courtesy to pull out when he overloads, sticky ropes of transfluid painting the plating on Barricade's aft, then he topples over, landing stretched out next to Barricade.

"Yeah, tha' was good. Better than tha last time." Jazz says.

"Definitely better." Barricade agrees, even if he's still ambivalent about liking it in the first place.

_And then there's the next feature of the mod he needs to try, and suddenly he remembers that it's one of the reasons he planned to try this by himself._

Burying his face in the pillows, flushing furiously, he reaches back and slips a digit into his aft. It hasn't closed fully, still adjusted to accommodate Jazz's spike. Barricade stops the sequence that's now labeled _'Jazz'_ and initiates the protocols that's for when he isn't facing. His port closes around his digit, quickly going back to what he supposes is the normal tightness it had when he was still a virgin back there.

_It's not like he fiddled back there before, so he can't be sure._

"All good?" Jazz asks.

"Yeah, just making sure the closing protocols work." Barricade says, flushing again when he pulls his finger out of his ass.

"Lemme try."

Barricade makes an unintelligible whine, because he isn't keen on having anyone poking around there, even if it's Jazz. 

_Especially not now, when he has gotten mods to not even need foreplay._

_But it's more pleasurable now... Maybe you'll enjoy the fingering even more?_

_Shut up!_

"Come on! I wanna see if it's a mod I should get too. I don' really think it's tha' uncomfortable ta take it like that anymore, but if it makes thing even more efficient, it might be worth it."

"Fine."

There's still a little slick left, so Jazz's digit slips inside smoothly, even if Barricade definitely has tightened up.

"Yeah, you're good n' tight again. Think I might get me this mod. Would be nice ta be this tight again even when someone has knotted me."

That's an experience Barricade hopes he can somehow get out of gaining, but then he really need to get on with finding a different job. 

_At least you have the proper mods for trying that now._

_Ugh._

"Come on, let's go have a shower. Ya're a mess."

It's true. Barricade reluctantly gets up from his position, wiping the worst of the stickiness from his plating with the sheet. He brings the sheet with him, because there's a washing machine in the washracks, and since he shot his load all over Jazz's bedding the least he can do is wash it for him.

"Hey, ya forgot your toy!"

It's not like he needs it now, Jazz has helped him out with the testing, but it would be kind of rude to leave his things laying around in Jazz's room, so he grabs it anyway, then they head off to the washracks.


	250. Chapter 250

They help each other clean up, and even if they kiss — slow and sweet, in a way he's still not used to, but is definitely becoming one of his favorite things — it doesn't derail into fucking. Barricade really savors the moment, because it feels so intimate, and it's something he wants more of, what he was looking for way back when they met, even if he didn't know it at the time.

But eventually they have to part, because they're both expected elsewhere, for the kind of fucking that's the opposite of making love. They dry themselves in silence, content to be together, and then they share one last kiss before Jazz heads out into the street, and Barricade goes upstairs to wait for Ironhide to get back from wherever he has been.

Barricade carries the toy in his servo through the house — the package is too big to fit in his subspace pockets — and he doesn't miss the leering quirk of Nitro's optical ridge when the Flier spots what he's carrying. Barricade just rolls his optics and heads upstairs.

_Horny bastard._

He enters Hide's room, and then he comes to a halt just inside the door, spark suddenly dropping.

_Where the hell _is_ he going to put that toy?! It's not like he has a storage unit of his own; he hasn't had anything to store up until now, so he didn't even consider it. He could try to hide the toy, but how mortifying wouldn't it be when Ironhide finds it? Because Hide would find it, there's no way he could get away with this, he has no luck whatsoever._

Barricade stares at the box with the thing inside.

_Crosshairs had his toys all over the place, but he isn't Crosshairs, and this isn't his room._

_The toy is smaller than the package, maybe it could fit in your subspace if you take it out?_

It's not like he can come up with a better option, so Barricade tears the box open and pulls the thing out, staring at it with a mix of fascination and disgust. It's made of some semi-wobbly gel material, smooth to the touch. He shakes it experimentally, and it wiggles in the air.

_Well, he doesn't have many options._

It fits inside the pocket high up on his side, and it's a relief when the pocket shuts, and it's like he has never had a sex toy in the first place. 

_At least until someone scans him for some reason._

The box, he throws down the trash shute to the incinerator. Feeling much calmer now that he has disposed of the evidence, he stretches out on the berth, trying and failing to forget that his mods are going to be put to good use again soon. 

_They did seem to work, though, spared him from discomfort. But Hide is definitely bigger than Jazz, and he hasn't really learned all the settings available through the new protocols yet, so what if he doesn't succeed with using them right? Maybe it'll be even worse?_

He opens the program again to play around with the settings, trying to figure out where he can find them when he needs them at a moment's notice. Barricade can feel his port loosening and tightening up repeatedly as he changes the settings, but he doesn't have any reference point, so it's haphazard at best.

_The dildo in his subspace. He could try it with that. Just to get a feel for what he can do with the protocols... It was a bit rushed with Jazz — because he wanted to get it over with, and is still a bit embarrassed about it all — and scrolling all the settings, he can see that there's many more options than those he used..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 250 chapters! I can't believe I'm this far into it already. So much plot to be written now, if things don't derail into month-long porn scenes frequently. XD


	251. Chapter 251

_Crosshairs was right: it is much easier with a toy with a suction cup._

At first, Barricade tries putting it on the bathroom floor, the tiles giving a good surface to stick it to. It bobs obscenely where it stands, and Barricade makes a face at it, but then he mechs up and grabs the lube, stroking it a few times to slick it.

_You're getting very good at that. Very _handy!

_Shut up._

He kneels over the shiny length, slowly sinking down until it presses against his aft. Barricade hasn't adjusted any of the settings yet, and his port is still tight. The pressure is uncomfortable.

_Automatic settings would probably be a good way to start, but that means he has to know the circumference of whatever he's about to take._

_Planning on taking others than Jazz and Ironhide, are we?_

_No! Just... Precautions. If Hide wants to bring toys and hookers again._

_Mhm._

Ignoring the unsettling realization that maybe he _is_ taking precautions to be able to take different cocks up the ass, Barricade starts to go through all the different variables and settings.

_It does seem ungainly to figure out the circumference for every new mech, there has to be simpler automatization than that. Maybe just go from Jazz preference with the pressure and adjust size until it feels good even if someone is thicker?_

Barricade tries to guesstimate the circumference of the toy, as a good optic measure would be helpful, then he sinks down on it. Easily.

_Apparently, he has a tendency to overestimate the size of his partner. At least that could be considered flattering._

Then the toy hits that spot inside him, and his hips jerk of their own accord. The hydraulics of his right leg protest against the awkward position, and the strain it puts on them. He quickly lifts off the toy to keep the pistons from overheating and getting stuck.

_Frag. He really needs to figure this out before Hide shows up, or it's going to be really awkward._

_Stick it to the wall in the shower and fuck yourself on it. You know, turbo hound-style._

_Why has his life come to these considerations? _

But then he thinks about the shower he just had with Jazz, and how he wouldn't have that if he hadn't been taken in here.

_He just has to stay long enough that he can get them both out, so they can have a better life together._

_Yes, and right now, that means you've got to satisfy the pimp, which means you need to get to know those protocols down to a T before he shows up._

He pulls the toy from the floor and sticks it to the glass wall at the entrance of the shower, starting the water.

_Might as well get a little steam and heat in there to help him relax._

Barricade pours lube on his digits, pushing them inside to slick up his hole, on case the water has washed some of the slick already on the toy away, and he gets into position in front of the thing.

_Sensor connected automatic pressure control. Sounds about right._

For long seconds, the protocols boot and connect to the sensors in his port, calibrating, and it feels weird — a tingling sensation as all the sensors are tested one by one, and minuscule twitches of the calipers — then he gets a pop-up in his HUD that the systems are ready to go.

He rocks back, the toy sliding smoothly into him, lighting up the sensors that seem to be ramped up to the most sensitive setting, and he's hard pressed to focus on adjusting the pressure of the calipers. Tighter means firmer pressure against his sensors, but too much equals discomfort. He tries loosening up as an experiment, but that almost tickles, in a very teasing way.

_Oh, he can dial down the sensitivity a bit too, that's neat. It's not like he wants to overload every twenty seconds from this._

He plays with the adjustments back and forth to try it out, rocking against the toy.

"Well isn't _this_ a nice little surprise to find in the shower?"


	252. Chapter 252

He squeaks and throws himself forward, landing sprawled on his front in the thankfully good-sized shower, all too aware of his aft still being in Ironhide's line of sight.

_And he isn't sure if those settings will make him close up or not!_

Barricade rolls over on his back to meet the big mech's optics, just to also meet the taunting bobbing of the dildo still attached to the glass wall separating him from Hide.

_What the fuck was he thinking?!_

"Don't feel obligated to stop for my sake. I love a good show as much as anyone, and your aft is a pretty view in itself."

"I-I...uhm... I was just..."

_Well, it's fairly obvious what he was doing, and apparently, Ironhide doesn't object at all, but he has never been much of a masturbator, and whenever he did, it was kept to a quick jerk off,_ in private, _and this is just..._

"Fucking yourself in the ass on a dildo. Yes, I did notice. Kind of hard to miss, actually." Ironhide's intake pulls into that lascivious grin of his, and he quirks an optical ridge.

Barricade feels his face flush, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't move, because he really doesn't know what to say or do.

"I reckon you talked to Cross."

"I...yes, I did."

"Feels better?"

_Of course he'd know. Crosshairs probably relayed everything said and done immediately. Considering the long history between the two, why wouldn't he?_

Barricade can't even be annoyed about it, because logically, there's probably more to being at the top of the hierarchy of the hookers than just being good at spreading his legs, and Ironhide certainly seems like the type who'd rely on intel, and hate surprises.

But right now, his biggest problems are a leering Topkick, a still jiggling dildo, and the charge that's still running through his systems in spite of everything.

"So far, it seems to work well." Barricade answers in a strained voice, flushing again.

"Mhm." Ironhide's optics slither over his entire frame. "I'm not the kind to waste an opportunity when I see one. I mean; the shower is already hot, _you're_ already hot, I'm in need of a shower and good lay, and I'm going to fuck you tonight anyway..."

Then he opens the glass door, stepping inside to join Barricade. He towers over the Saleen, who's still sprawled on the floor.

"Good thing you're cute when you're too flustered to move, considering how often you are. Come on," Ironhide says, stretching a servo out for Barricade to take, "I can't imagine I made your legs glitch with my mere presence."

Barricade hesitates for long seconds, but then he grabs that servo and is hoisted to his pedes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention yesterday that this series has been expanded with another tiny piece. It's called insubordination, and it's a snippet of Ironhide's life before he got to be a gang boss.


	253. Chapter 253

Ironhide's servos roam his frame as the big mech presses up against him, and it's a rather familiar feeling by now. Then he's suddenly spun around and his front is pushed against the wall, a big servo stroking his aft before two digits slip into his port.

"Tight, but still pliable, and so slick..." Ironhide groans.

_It's kind of odd how he isn't offended by the handling, or the comments, like he used to be._

_You're learning, accepting your new station._

_It's just temporary. Shut up._

"You're so short..." Ironhide kind of grouses, his spike rubbing against Barricade's lower back when he grinds forward for emphasis.

"Maybe you should have a ladder in here for me to stand on then, big Bot?" Barricade quips, before snapping his intake shut in surprise at his own bold joking.

Ironhide barks a laugh though, clearly amused by Barricade's snarky sass.

"No need. You ain't tall, but you're not heavy either."

Ironhide grabs his hips, and easily lifts Barricade. The Saleen braces his lower arms against the wall, pedes dangling in the air. Then Ironhide's spike nudges his port and slips inside easily.

The sensors light up again with the stimulation, and he sees in the gauges in his HUD how the program adjusts the calipers to accommodate the thicker intrusion. The lack of discomfort is novel, and very welcome, and he lets out a low moan as the thick length slides over the sensitive nodes inside him when Ironhide starts to fuck him with long, powerful thrusts.

"Touch your valve." Ironhide grunts.

Barricade glances I've his shoulder, but the big mech doesn't notice, occupied with staring down at where his spike slides in and out of Barricade's aft. He reaches between his legs with one servo, still leaning the other arm against the wall for support, and slides a digit through the wet slit.

"See what a bad little bot you are? Valve all empty and drooling because you're being fucked in the aft instead." Ironhide rumbles in his audial, pressing his front against Barricade's back as he leans closer. "Mh, yes, such a naughty little mech."

"Yes?"

_Dirty talk isn't really his thing, but at least this isn't degrading._

_Well, it's true at least; you really are a bad bot, or you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place, now would you?_

_Not the same thing._

_Let's just stick to your empty pussy and your really full ass then._

Ironhide pulls him back to meet the next thrust, changing the angle to his that sensitive spot inside Barricade, and the Interceptor mewls loudly, in spite of being forced to yank his servo from his array to stop himself from faceplanting against the wall.

"Would you come from just this, or do you need to flick your node too?"

"I-I I think I can overload from just this?"

_It certainly feels that way, at least if Ironhide isn't about to overload in the next few thrusts._

"Let's try, shall we?"

"_Yes!_" Barricade hisses when Ironhide thrust into him again.

He dials up the sensitivity another few steps, arching his back to give Ironhide better access.

Ironhide increases the pace, pelvic plating clanging against Barricade's aft with every thrust, and Barricade can't control the moans leaving him every time Ironhide surges forward.

"You like that, don't you?" Ironhide grunts.

_He does. He shouldn't, but he really does. _

_Just enjoy it. Pleasure certainly isn't something to mope about._

"Yes!"

Ironhide chuckles and there's a thread of smugness weaving through his field, but he increases the pace even more.

Barricade overloads hard, the calipers in his aft clenching with the same pulsing rhythm his valve does. His digits scrabble against the wall, and his vocalizer makes an undignified squeal. Ironhide follows him over with a grunt, and with the sensitivity amped up, Barricade can feel the hot transfluid spilling inside him, pooling around the thick spike to stretch him even more.

Ironhide pulls out, putting Barricade back on the floor, steadying him until he's certain that the Saleen can stand of his own power. Barricade rests his face against his lower arms, leaning against the wall. He hears Ironhide doing something but he doesn't look.

Then something slips into his aft, and Barricade whips his helm around. Ironhide grins unrepentantly, pulling the toy out of Barricade to hold it up to show him.

"You tighten up quickly: this still fits!"

Barricade can't help himself, he reaches back, touching his port to test it, then he flushes when Ironhide's grin widens.

_He's closed, not gaping open._

His relief is short lived.

_Ironhide's cum is still inside him. He needs to get it out._

Ironhide hands him the toy and steps under the stream of water, grabbing a bottle of solvent.

_He could just turn around, and then open the calipers to let it dribble out and hope Hide doesn't notice._

_Fat chance that he won't, especially with you flushing just thinking about it. He did enjoy seeing your port drool his cum, and he just handed you the toy. Put on a show with it. It's not like he hasn't seen it before. Through the glass wall._

Barricade flushes furiously.

_Fuck his functioning. In the ass. With a dildo._

"So, big Bot, do you want me to continue the show?" Barricade tries to purr seductively, even if he thinks he sounds ridiculous.

Ironhide's smirk is answer enough, so Barricade buries his face-plates in the crook of his arm, still braced against the wall, and with his other servo, he lines up the toy and slides it into his still slick port, adjusting the settings to allow the cum inside him to dribble out everytime he pulls the toy out.


	254. Chapter 254

The berth is empty when he wakes up, but he's used to that by now; Ironhide is always up before him. Barricade takes a quick shower before he heads for the refueling room.

It's not unusual that he finds other mechs there, having morning energon, but it's the first time Ironhide is present. He's sitting on a bar stool, leaning against the countertop, and Crosshairs is perched on his lap. 

"Morning." Barricade says, walking to the energon heater, trying to covertly stare at them.

"Morning." Everyone present says in unison.

"Ye should try this one." Crosshairs says, grabbing a gel from the plate on the counter behind Ironhide.

"Oh, yeah?" Hide says amusedly, raising an optical ridge.

Crosshairs nods and pops it into his intake, pulling his lip-plates back to show that he's squeezing it against the roof of his intake with his glossa, then he sticks his glossa out.

Ironhide grins, then he sucks Crosshairs's glossa into his mouth. The kiss heats up instantly, with a big servo slowly stroking Crosshairs side, thumbs dipping between plating. Crosshairs presses his chest against Ironhide, moaning into his mouth.

Barricade's array is heating up, because it's a sensual, rather intimate display, and it is so different from what he's used to witnessing here.

They finally break apart, Ironhide pressing his lip-plates against Crosshairs's before pulling back.

"It's good, though everything tastes good on you."

"Yeh? Then try this one." 

Crosshairs grabs a gel in a different color and repeats the procedure, and what really strikes Barricade is the indulgence Ironhide looks at Crosshairs with, and how genuinely happy they both seem. There's something different in the way they interact that Barricade hasn't seen before, and it blurs the line from pimp/whore, or perhaps employer/employee, to what seems more like good friends with benefits.

"Why don't we ever do that? I want to do that too!" Nitro Zeus almost whines to Dreadbot.

"Because you haven't deserved it, you mech-whore." Dreadbot quips, rolling all of his optics out of sync.

Nitro somehow manages to convey a pout even though his intake configuration can't really pull one off.

"Besides, look at us both. It would be tongue licking, and at best tongue fucking each other's intake, and we'd be lucky if we didn't cut up our glossas on our denta."

"You can reshape yours, and I don't mind tongue fucking your mouth."

"Dreadbot an' Nitro, sittin' in a tree..." Crosshairs sings.

"Shut up and keep kissing me." Ironhide growls playfully, pulling him back in to get his will.

"We can try it tonight, I don't want you slobbering all over me now that I just showered." Dreadbot snarks.

Nitro Zeus suddenly pounces on the smaller mech, licking a very wet line across his face-plates.

"Hey, what the... _Bastard_!" Dreadbot growls as threateningly as someone being held in place and repeatedly licked — like a turbo kitten getting a cleaning from it's mother — can.

Nitro let's him go, smirking smugly. "So, what are you going to do about that?"

"I will find a way to make you pay. You just wait and see..."

"I don't even know if that's a threat or a promise."


	255. Chapter 255

"I should take a vacation. Bring you with me and go somewhere. Just drinking, and relaxing, and fucking. Blow off some steam." Ironhide says to Crosshairs. "Some nice hotel, with room service, so we don't need to leave the room if I don't want to."

"Sounds nice, but I think Nitro would be jealous." Crosshairs says, stroking Ironhide's chest-plates.

"I'm sure Dreadbot can keep him occupied."

"This is _not_ fair! You get a working vacation, and I just get more work?" Dreadbot grumbles, still wiping his face with a rag.

"So, get Nitro te take ye somewhere!" Crosshairs says cheerily.

"You know what a cheap ass he is." 

Ironhide snorts. "Don't we all?"

"I'll take you anyway you want, babe." Nitro leers, putting an arm across Dreadbot's shoulders.

"You better..."

"Ye know wha' would be fun though, an' would benefi' everyone 'ere?"

"I can think of a lot of things." Ironhide mumbles against Crosshairs's neck-cables.

"I want te go shootin'. _Please_, Daddy? Can' we hit the range some day?" 

"Yeah, please, _Daddy_." Dreadbot chimes in.

"I want to shoot too, _Daddy."_ Knock Out agrees.

"_Daddy_, don't forget me! I wanna blow some shit up too." Jazz adds as he enters, catching the tail end of the conversation.

"Alright, alright! I'll look into it. Stop making me feel old." Ironhide grumbles, but he sounds more fondly exasperated than truly annoyed.

"Ye _are_ old."

"I'm the same age as Knockie!"

"Yeh, but 'e was still piddlin' 'is panel, trundlin' 'round 'is playpen when ye were already out shootin' stuff."

Ironhide glares at Crosshairs, but then he cracks up and shakes his helm before pressing a kiss to Crosshairs audial.

"So... I want to go shooting too, D..." Nitro Zeus starts to speak, but Ironhide interrupts him.

"_You_ better not finish that sentence, or I'm going to shove my cannon up your ass." 

Nitro cocks his helm, looking at Ironhide's arm, then he turns to look at his own aft over his shoulder.

"Oh, _Prez_, you really _do_ love me after all..." He moans exaggeratedly, leaning his elbows against the counter, sticking his aft out.

Ironhide rolls his optics.

"Hide? Should I?" Dreadbot asks, twirling the rag in the air.

"Please do." Ironhide says, nodding.

Dreadbot slaps Nitro across the aft, managing to hit protoform through a seam in Nitro's plating. The big mech flies up from his pose, howling in pain, and everyone starts laughing.

"That's it!" Nitro growls, throwing Dreadbot over his shoulder, heading for the door.

"You said anyway _I_ want. _Babe._" Dreadbot laughs.

"I say a lot of things..."

"Yeah, you really do need to learn how to keep your big vocalizer shut." Dreadbot quips

"I agree with Dreadbot! On both accounts!" Ironhide shouts after them.

The door slams shut behind them.

"It really would be fun te go shootin', though..." Crosshairs says.

"I'll arrange something, sweetie."


	256. Chapter 256

Jazz wraps his arms around Barricade, pressing a kiss to the Mustang's neck-cables.

"Mornin', babe. Did yer new mod work well?" He murmurs to keep the conversation fairly private.

"Yeah. All the difference." 

_He's not ready to admit — not even to himself to be honest — that it was quite pleasurable, now that he was able to accommodate Hide's spike easily. And he certainly isn't keen on going into the details about how the deed was done. What was he thinking with the glass wall?_

"Huh. Maybe I should get that mod too..." Jazz muses, not noticing the way Barricade flushes, and it's a welcome distraction.

"Don't you feel... like, _loose _afterwards? I mean, since you don't have it..."

_What a fucking conversation to have over breakfast._

"Maybe sometimes? I guess I'm used ta that too, I don' really think 'bout it." Jazz giggles.

_Ugh. Time to change subject._

"So, you want to do something today? Just the two of us."

_Not that he knows what, because he has no credits, and he'd really like to take Jazz to lunch or something. Maybe find a park to take a walk in, or something else that's free? _

"Sounds fun. Wanna go for hot energon, n' a movie?" Jazz asks.

"I... I'd love to, but I have no credits, and I've already been enough of a financial burden for you..."

"Here." Ironhide interrupts Barricade, and the Saleen turns around, just in time to catch a credit chip thrown his way.

"My treat."

Barricade gapes at the chip, because he wasn't prepared for the sudden generosity.

"Thank you, Hide. Thank you so much!" He says, as soon as he snaps out of his stupor.

"You've earned it." Ironhide says, then he grins at Crosshairs. "And _you_ have put me in a _very_ good mood, darling. I think I'm going to dunk you in the oil jacuzzi and ravage you all day long." He grinds up against Crosshairs to emphasize his good mood, leering lasciviously.

"'ow 'bout ye make sweet love te me?" Crosshairs answers cheekily.

"That what you want?" Ironhide asks, standing from his seat, carrying Crosshairs as if he weighs nothing.

"Maybe?" Crosshairs says, suddenly sounding insecure.

"Any way you want, sweetspark." Ironhide says, pressing a kiss to Crosshairs's helm. "You two, have fun. Jazz, check in with Nitro where you go."

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Jazz says, making a sloppy salute.

Crosshairs snorts a laugh, and Ironhide offlines one of his optics in a wink to Jazz, then the door shuts behind them, and Jazz, and Barricade, and Knock Out are the only ones left in the kitchen.

"You know any good energon shops?" Barricade asks Jazz.

"I do. Let's go, we can check what movies are on when were there." Jazz says, lacing their digits.

"The two of you are so darn cute." Knock Out says, smirking at them. "Have fun, I'll see you tonight."

"You have a nice day too." Barricade says, a warm feeling in his chest.

_They look cute together, and Jazz is holding his servo, and they kind of have a date..._


	257. Chapter 257

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art! Lovely Barricade. <3 https://twitter.com/Challengergirl9/status/1265443007005941765?s=19

Jazz leads the way to a nice little energon shop — not one of the new, big chains that keep popping up new spots everywhere in the better neighborhoods, but a rather bohemic little place, with mismatched furniture that all have pricetags, and cubes and plates that doesn't really go together — and they sink into comfortably worn chairs.

"Everythin' here is for sale, n' I'm lookin' for a small table ta put next ta my berth." Jazz says.

"So it's kind of like a thrift store too?"

"Yeah, I've bought my carpet here. Sometimes, they have some really nice things."

Barricade nods, taking another look around the room. It suddenly feels a bit awkward, like a first date, and he doesn't know what to say. It's kind of weird to be speechless, considering the topics they've been talking about lately — not to think of what they've _done_ — but they never did _this_ before, so it really kind of is their first date.

"So, this is where you go in your spare time? Are there any other fun things to do around here?" He tries for a conversation starter, because he really doesn't know what Jazz does when he's off the clock, and he isn't hanging out in his room with Barricade.

"Yeah, we all come here now n' then. Grab a snack n' hang out for a bit. There's a detailin' shop 'round tha corner that's not too pricey, but don' tell Knock Out I said so. He's better with the polish, n' he does it for free for all of us, but they have this deep cleanin' offer that's more of a massage, n' it's so relaxin'."

_It sounds divine._

"Maybe we can go there sometime. When I'm making some money..."

_Which right now would mean that he needs to sleep with more mechs than Hide, so hopefully not in the nearest future._

"Sounds like a plan." Jazz grins.

They lapse into silence, and Barricade tries to not think about making money.

"What kind of movie do you want to see?" He asks to distract himself, scrolling the list of movies available at the moment. 

"Not 'pretty mech' or somethin' like that, that's for sure." Jazz chuckles.

"Primus, no! And please, not something about crooked cops."

Jazz smirks. "How 'bout a thriller 'bout tha underground racin' circuit?"

"I like the sound of that!"

"Drive-by-wire is one of few two-wheelers that has qualified to the cup-race on the illegal gravel circuit. A lot of credits are at stake, but the four-wheelers doesn't like the competition from the smaller mechs. Drive-by-wire never cared, but then one of the other two-wheelers disappears without a trace, just to turn up deactivated a week later."

Barricade finds the trailer for the movie, and it does seem like the stereotype action movie, with tire squealing, fist fights, and a dusting of sexual tension.

"Let's see that one."

"It starts soon, we better hurry. I need ta buy pops, n' tha line is always so long!"

"Maybe you can ask Crosshairs to make some and deliver them."

Jazz laughs. "I don' think Hide will let him outta tha jacuzzi anytime soon."

"What's up with those two? I mean, they were looking pretty cuddly and sweet this morning..."

Jazz shrugs. "Sometimes some of tha brothers want some smoochin'. They don' really do love n' stuff, even if some of 'em have tampered a little with their emotional protocols, but sometimes, they so stuff that edges on what mechs do in relationships, or at least what they've seen on TV. I'm pretty sure Crosshairs is a bit in love with Hide, n' Hide is pretty indulgent when he feels like it — especially with Crosshairs — so it could be that too. I mean, Hide has been occupied with you every night for quite some time now, and keeping his number one slut happy is probably a good idea."

Barricade nods and drops the subject. He's not going to spend their date thinking about that, even if he feels a bit sorry for Crosshairs, if it's true that Crosshairs is in love with a mech who can't really return it, and spends his nights with others. 

_At least he can have something special with Jazz._


	258. Chapter 258

"So, wha' didya think of tha movie?" Jazz asks when they leave the theater.

"A bit cliché with the action scenes, but I liked the plot twist about the murderer. Seven out of ten?"

"It really got me longin' for a bit of racin'."

"Maybe we could go to a track someday? Do a few laps. If it isn't too expensive." Barricade says, checking how many credits are still left after he paid for the movie and the snacks.

_Should be enough for at least one lap each, if prices haven't skyrocketed while he was in prison._

Jazz snorts a laugh. "Or we could jus' race down tha streets."

"What?! We can't do _that_?!"

"Why not?"

_Well, not because he's an Enforcer, and it's against regulations, at least._

"But... what if we get caught? I can't pay a ticket, and what if the parole officer finds out and reports it to the parole board, and I could go back to prison, and..."

_It just feels _wrong._ He still doesn't see himself as a lawbreaker, even if his criminal record states otherwise. He never engaged in reckless rule breaking before._

_Sure you didn't..._

_Shut up, that was different. At least at some point before it derailed. _

_Mhm..._

"Last one ta tha coolant tower is a rotten sharkticon egg." Jazz says, folding into his alt mode.

_Do sharkticons even lay eggs?_

_You're giving him a head start, and you're going to lose._

Standing around while the attention of the crowd is turned to them as Jazz peels out is probably even worse than following, so Barricade transforms as fast as he can, and then he guns his engine. His spark speeds up with nerves for what they're doing, but also the thrill of the speed, the way they weave in and out of traffic. 

_It's almost like the chases back when he was an Enforcer, but this time, he doesn't have to mind any rules of engagement._

Jazz is fast, and by the way he overtakes slower moving mechs and transports shows that this isn't the first time he's doing some high speed driving, but Barricade has the advantage of having practiced with instructors. 

_Sure, it was a long time ago, but he still remembers._

He sees his chance when Jazz gets boxed in behind a heavy hauler, and he pushes his engine to the red line as he overtakes him. He slips back into his lane, nearly colliding with an oncoming SUV, and the mech honks his horn angrily. Barricade feels the rush of adrenaline, and it almost makes him giggle. 

Traffic thins out for the last stretch, and he can really run flat out, keeping the distance to Jazz. When he skids to a stop in front of the coolant tower, he transforms, leaning a servo against the wall, as if he has been casually lounging there for a while, even though his fans are spinning at top speed, and his plating is clicking as it starts to cool down.

Jazz pulls up just seconds later, transforming too.

"Hi, egg. Something smells funny here." Barricade grins.

"Shut up!" Jazz laughs, before tackling Barricade, smashing his back against the wall, and attacking him with a heated kiss.


	259. Chapter 259

"Ya know, we really need ta go." Jazz murmurs against his lip-plates, momentarily breaking the kiss.

"Yeah. The heat is probably on to us..." Barricade pants, grinding down against the thigh Jazz has slotted between his legs.

"Oh, it feels like _at least _one of us is goin' inta heat."

Barricade snorts, secure in the knowledge that heats are extremely rare, and even if they weren't, they both have precautions installed.

_Thank you, Hide._

_Shut up._

"So where are we going?" He mumbles, before biting Jazz's lip.

"Ta tha pit, probably." Jazz snickers, squeezing Barricade's aft.

"True, but I meant the nearest future. Like, right the fuck now." Barricade groans, spike requesting to pressurize, valve going slicker by the second.

"Well, it wouldn' be tha first time we fucked outside, but I do think a berth would be nice for our first real date." Jazz says without letting up on his assault on the sensitive seams around Barricade's pelvic plating.

_It's a bit bitter sweet, because while they did hang out in their spare time way back, they never really had a date, and there was so many wrongs with what they did, this really is their first date._

"I totally agree. I don't have one, though. I think I have enough credits for a motel..."

"Don' bother. My room is better than a cheap motel, n' if tha law actually is lookin' for us, they won' look there."

_He wouldn't hesitate to pay for a room if Jazz didn't feel like going home to the bordello to continue this, but he's still grateful that he doesn't have to spend his entire wad. Then maybe he can buy something else for Jazz later on._

"Your room is nice." Barricade agrees.

They don't stop making out. In the distance, a siren wails.

"I think we should go." Barricade mumbles between kisses.

"I know."

"You need to move, I'm sandwiched between you and the wall."

"I know "

One last kiss before Jazz steps back and folds into his alt mode. He whips around, fish tailing enticingly, before speeding out. Of course Barricade gives chase.


	260. Chapter 260

The gates open for them automatically, and there's nobody around to guard the gates. It's kind of strange, because mostly, one of the brothers sit by to check everyone coming through, at least the times Barricade has been out.

::Where is everyone? Shouldn't there be someone by the gate?::

::If ya didn' stay in berth half tha days, ya'd know a new surveillance system has been installed. Blackout has been workin' on it. They could surveil remotely before too, but this is much more reliable.::

_High tech criminals. Why is he even surprised? _

Barricade suddenly realizes that he has no idea what the brothers were in for when Crosshairs met them. Considering what he knows of their age, they can't have been in for too long before Crosshairs was convicted, and they didn't stay much longer either. 

_Had to be first strike, single charges, and apparently no murders._

He dismisses the thought as he may never find out, and it really doesn't matter much anyway. 

_They've done what they've done, and they have probably not been convicted for more than a fraction of it. _

They both transform, and Jazz pulls Barricade in for another kiss, before lacing their digits and pulling the Mustang with him into the house.

"You know, these days, I'm actually more surprised when I come in here and nobody is fucking on the couch than I am when someone is." Barricade muses as Jazz drags him to the bar in the rec area that's empty for once. "Not much of a prude anymore, I guess."

Jazz snorts. "Ye're adjustin'! Soon it'll be like it always has been that way."

_Not that he wants to adjust like that, but there's no point telling Jazz that. _

"So, what d'ya want?" Jazz asks, pouring himself a flavored high grade and sweet coolant.

"Just give me a bottle of mid grade."

Jazz opens it and takes a swig before he hands it to Barricade.

Barricade suddenly feels bold and licks the top of the bottle, keeping optic contact. Jazz groans, optics brightening, and it spurs Barricade to pull Jazz in for another kiss, a kiss that heats up very quickly. The drinks are disposed on the bar top, and questing servos map out plating.

A sudden noise of a chair being pulled out startles them to break apart, whipping around in the direction of the sound.

"Don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the show." Nitro Zeus leers, leaning against the bar, optic ridge quirked. "Unless you want me to join you..."

Jazz's optics flick to Barricade in a quick glance.

"Dreadbot let ya outta tha berth already?"

::We don' hafta let him join, we're not really working right now, n' Hide sent us off on a date, n' I told Nitro, so he's aware of it.::

"Little glitch like Dreadbot can only handle so much, and you know I'm packing." Nitro stretches to his full height, rubbing his interface panel. "He's taking a nap. So what do you say, little mechs? Wanna keep me company for a while?"

"I'm not sure I could handle you." Barricade says, laying on thickly with shy innocence. "I mean, you're so massive and all..."

Nitro just stares at him for long seconds before suddenly barking a laugh. "Then I fucking hope Hide will get on with loosening you up. But you have fun, little mechs. I'll go see if my massive size will fit inside little Dreadbot again." He says, grabbing a bottle of high grade before he leaves the two Racers behind.

"C'mon, babe, le's get ta my room." Jazz says, grabbing the drinks. "I really wanna get my spike inside ya, n' then I wanna switch."


	261. Chapter 261

"Why is he always like that?"

"Who? Nitro?"

"Yeah. He's such a gross bastard."

Jazz shrugs. "Not always ta this extent. I guess it's jus' what he considers fun. Ya do react in a rather amusing way, so I can see why he persists... Plus he has tha hots for ya, so he'll try everythin' ta get ya in tha sack."

Barricade makes a face before dismissing those thoughts. "Well, let's not allow him to ruin the mood." He says, wrapping an arm around Jazz. "You said something about sticking your spike in me...?"

"Oh, yeah! I wanna shove ya down n' have my way with ya, n' then I wan'cha ta do that same ta me." Jazz purrs.

Barricade snickers, slipping his servo down to curl around Jazz's hip. "I like the sound of this."

Jazz giggles, handing him the bottle of mid grade back, and Barricade drinks deeply, their progress momentarily going unsteady as he tilts his helm back to drink. Jazz drags him along, and the door to his room opens for them. Barricade isn't prepared for Jazz to actually shove him towards the berth, and he trips and falls flat on his front on the mattress, the bottle sent flying to spread the rest of the contents over the floor.

"Whoops." Jazz says unrepentantly, then he pounces on the Mustang, straddling Barricade's aft, leaning in to nip at Barricade's neck.

Skilled servos toy with Barricade's shoulder-wings, finding the sensitive cables and wires at the base, and he groans, the charge he was already running quickly getting amplified. Then Jazz licks at the sensitive components, oral lubricant leaving a trail of wetness that provides another level of sensation when it cools. Barricade spreads his legs, baring his slick and empty valve.

_When did his panel open?_

"Please, Jazz! I want you in me..." He groans.

"Good, 'cause I ain't really patient enough ta tease ya." Jazz confesses, sliding back to kneel between Barricade's spread thighs, nudging them farther apart.

Barricade arches his back in invitation, and Jazz greedily heeds the call, his spike momentarily nudging through the wet slit of Barricade's valve before finding the right line to slip inside. Barricade moans loudly when the length slide over his inside nodes, and Jazz nips at the base of his shoulder-wing, providing a delicious sting he hasn't experienced before. Barricade pushes back to get that delicious spike deeper, and Jazz increases the pace of his thrusts, pounding into Barricade.

Barricade arches his back even more, chest-plates still pressed against the bedding, aft in the air, and there's something intensely erotic about the position, because it's Jazz he's spreading his legs for, and it just feels so right. He pushes an arm under himself to circle his node with a digit, and it makes his charge skyrocket, lubricant welling out of his valve every time Jazz pulls out.

Then Jazz bites a cable to his shoulder-wing, and Barricade is going into a hard overload, hips jerking in time with the contractions in his valve. He hears the curse Jazz grunts when he overloads too, then he goes limp under the Solstice. It takes a few more seconds, then Jazz collapses on top of him, vents ragged and fans on full blast.

"Fuckin' pit, babe, that was awesome!" Jazz pants.

Barricade grins into the pillow.

_It really was. What a wonderful day._


	262. Chapter 262

They lay stretched out, resting, snuggled close, and arms and legs tangled together.

"I could get used to this."

"Me too. Ya know, I really enjoy spiking ya, but I like getting spiked by ya too."

"Yeah, same. I also really like doing other stuff with you... It has been a really fun day."

"I agree! We should do stuff more often."

_If he could afford it, they'd do stuff every day._

"We should, but I don't want to mooch on you, and I'm not exactly rich..." Barricade says self-deprecatingly.

"I know, babe. The thought is what counts in my opinion. N' drinks n' snacks, a movie in here, n' cuddlin' is good too. Tha street race was for free though!"

_Jazz has a good point. He has been so focused on what he can't offer, he hasn't seen what he could. Not everything nice they can do require credits._

"I'll try my servo at giving you a deep cleaning someday. I'm not a pro, but maybe you could guide me?"

_At least until he can afford to indulge Jazz with an appointment with a pro. But then again, doing it himself gives him an excuse to get his servos on Jazz..._

"Oh, _babe! _Tha thought alone is so seductive!" Jazz moans, and even if it's a bit exaggerated and said in good humor, his field is ratting out that he's both flattered and longing for that massage. 

"I can do other seductive things too..." Barricade purrs, tilting his helm to lick a line in Jazz's neck.

It's very satisfying when Jazz's vents hitch, as is the shift in Jazz's position, a minute move to open him up for touching. 

Barricade doesn't want to seem pushy and desperate, but he slips his servo between Jazz's thighs nonetheless, careful to only play with the plating around the Solstice's array.

Jazz's response is even more delightful than he imagined, silvery hips bucking to get his servo where Jazz wants it, a frustrated little mewl that sends a heat to Barricade's groin leaving Jazz's vocalizer. Barricade slowly strokes the puffy lips of Jazz's valve, and he can feel the dampness spreading from the slit.

"Don' _tease!"_

"But you make these cute little sounds when you're frustrated..." Barricade says innocently, flicking Jazz's anterior node once before going back to stroking his valve-lips.

"I'll show ya cute!" Jazz growls.

For once, Barricade has the upper hand, even if Jazz isn't completely helpless in the wrestling match that ensues. Curiosity has Barricade allowing himself to lose though, and he winds up on his back, Jazz straddling him. Jazz grinds against him, spreading his lubricant over Barricade's plating, but the Saleen finds that his upgraded spike control protocols come in handy.

_It's a power play, and he's aware, but this time nobody is getting hurt. Well, except maybe a few paint transfers on his pelvic plating from Jazz's insistent grinding._

"Come on now, give it ta me!" Jazz snarls.

_It's delightful, the way Jazz reacts. Barricade isn't certain he'd feel okay with Jazz begging, and he doesn't want to tell Jazz to work for it, that kind of action between them is still too close in memory, if not time. But Jazz being pushy and demanding is definitely amusing, and really hot._

"It seems like you want something, honey?"

Jazz looks furious for a second, but then he switches to a sweet smile. "Barricade? _Honey?_ If ya don' get that cock of yours out n' inside me right now, I'm gonna find a way ta pressurize it for ya."

Barricade can't help but laugh, but he obeys the demand, pressurizing his spike.

"I'm not good at aiming, it seems." He says, as Jazz's position makes it impossible to pressurize it straight into him.

"Lemme help ya with that then." Jazz leers, reaching down to line Barricade up, then he sinks down all the way.

There's no question if Jazz is chasing his own overload or not, he grinds against Barricade to get his node stimulated, and it's so hot to know that Jazz is into this for himself, and the difference from the facing they had way back.

_And it's really hot when Jazz takes charge like this, and isn't shy to say what he wants._

Barricade's charge is skyrocketing, and from the little noises Jazz makes, he's getting there quickly too. Barricade grabs Jazz's hips to help him keep the fast pace.

"I'm gonna overload soon." He grunts, because he doesn't want to finish before Jazz has a chance to overload too.

The only answer he gets is a wordless wail, and Jazz's digits digging into the seams of his ventral plating. Then Barricade overloads too, bucking up to get deeper even if it isn't really possible.

Jazz slumps over him, fans whirring loudly, and Barricade toys lazily with his plating, letting his frame go lax, just relishing the moment.

_Such an awesome day._


	263. Chapter 263

"So who wants te go shootin'?" Crosshairs asks the second he steps through the doors to the refueling room.

It has been over a week since they talked about that, and in all honesty, Barricade had forgotten about it, so he finds himself getting excited.

_He really enjoyed shooting back when he was an Enforcer, and he was pretty good at it. The prospect of getting to do something fun is so very tempting, but..._

"I don't know if I can afford it?" He really has no idea what it would cost to go to a range, and hire a gun these days.

_Is he even allowed to do that, being on parole and all?_

"Don't worry about that. Hide sets these outings up for everyone, so it's all payed for." Knock Out says.

"My parole... Am I even allowed on a gun range?"

"No' an issue." Crosshairs says smugly.

Barricade dawdles for long seconds, because while he's very excited about the prospect of shooting again, he's still afraid that it'll put him in trouble somehow, even if the others say it's fine.

_It would be just his luck..._

"I'm goin'..." Jazz says.

"In that case, I really want to join you." He finally decides.

"This is going to be awesome!" Dreadbot cackles giddily.

"So, Drift, ye wanna shoot at somethin', or do ye still prefer wavin' yer blades around?"

"I'll pass."

"Drift prefers having a few shots over shooting." Dreadbot says, smirk looking sharp with all his denta and the intense focus of eight optics.

"As long as 'e ain't shootin' up..."

"I bet someone will come back packing, loaded, and cocked for him to enjoy..."

Drift makes a face at his co-workers, but they don't seem particularly concerned.

"So, listen up, bitches. Hide an' Motormaster will meet us there. K.O, Roddy, an' Bumblebee will go first, with Roadbuster, an' Springer. I will go with Barricade, Dreadbot, an' Jazz a bit later, with Nitro, an' Blackout." Crosshairs informs them gathered pleasurebots.

Not even being in the same group as Nitro can really put a damper on his excitement.

_He's going to go to the gun range! He'll get to shoot again! It's the first time since Primus knows when he'll get to do something that he's actually decent at._

Barricade catches the way Jazz looks at him, a smile curling the corners of his intake.

"What?"

"Nothin' really. It's jus' that ya're really cute when ya're excited. Lookin' forward ta shootin'?"

Barricade feels himself flush, and his spark feels all warm from the compliment.

"Yes. I haven't gone shooting for so long. I always enjoyed it way back. I was one of the better marksmechs in my precinct." He says, carefully avoiding to think to much about those days.

_He's going to go shooting. He won't let bitter memories destroy that._

"Then this is goin' ta be such a good day. I really like shootin' too!" Jazz says happily.


	264. Chapter 264

They are getting ready to leave just an hour after the first group, but it feels more like a day later, and Barricade is getting impatient by the time they leave.

"Ya really are eager." Jazz snickers.

"I am." Barricade confesses. "It may feel like ages ago, but it isn't that long since I spent almost all my time in a barren cell, and except my dates with you, I haven't really had any extracurricular activities on my schedule since I got out."

"That's true." Jazz says, stroking Barricade's back. "I didn' mean ta be an aft, it's jus' that I rarely see ya this excited."

"It's fine. I do feel a bit like a sparkling getting this worked up. Can't help it though."

"Mh, this is such a good view!" Nitro leers as he walks by them, looking them all up and down.

On some cue Barricade doesn't catch, Dreadbot reaches for Crosshairs, pulling him close, at the same moment Crosshairs leans in to lick at the other pleasurebot's sharp denta. Dreadbot's dangerous looking talons slowly slide down Crosshairs's sides without so much as leaving a scuff mark, and they press up against each other in a very deliberate way. Nitro's engine whines.

"Keep it behind your panel, horn-bot. There will be no fucking until shots have been fired." Dreadbot says sternly.

"Actually, I wouldn' mind a quickie before we go..." Crosshairs muses.

Dreadbot rolls his optics. "You're ruining our leverage, dummy! We'll never get going if you do that." He hisses. 

"Yeh, but I'm..."

"You know, if you get yourself stuck on his dick, you won't get to see Hide shoot. And you know how revved up it gets him. So he's going to want a fuck, but you'll be stuck here on Nitro, so one of us is going to take care of Hide. But that's fine, it was a while since he had me. I could definitely go for some Topkick-cock today."

"Sorry, Nitro. It's ye an' yer 'and if ye wan' some before we go."

"Aaw." Nitro whines, looking at his servo with dismay that's hard to pin as sincere or fake.

"You could always take Drift for a ride. I mean, you can literally catch up with us in a matter of seconds." Dreadbot says.

"Hide said I should go with you as escort." Nitro shrugs, not really sounding annoyed with the task.

"What, you think I can't handle to keep four little Autosluts in line?" Blackout rumbles, stretching to his full height.

"I'm not sure you can, rotor-bub..." Nitro flares his plating threateningly.

They clash together, a few sparks flying, and the sound of metal on metal impact, and Barricade's spark speeds up.

_He's never seen Warframes in action, and it escalated to violence so quickly..._

"Warframes!" Dreadbot says condescendingly, rolling his optics.

"Ye should save yer power for the range." Crosshairs says loudly.

Barricade stares uneasily at where Nitro has Blackout in a rotor lock, but the bigger Helo can't really be counted out of the match yet, as he has a good grip on the thick chain Nitro wears around his neck.

"Oh, I have enough power, alright." Blackout leers tugging at the chain, forcing Nitro bend further.

An empty mount on Nitro's shoulder makes a sweep as answer, and he does something that's probably a grin as he pulls on Blackout's rotors, eliciting a sound of protesting metal.

_They're just playing. It really looked like a nasty fight — even compared to some of the fights Barricade broke up when he was still on the force — and it's a testament to the difference between ordinary mecha and Warframes._

"Warframes." Dreadbot says derisively again, with another optic roll.


	265. Chapter 265

He's about to transform, but Barricade halts the process and stares at Dreadbot for long seconds when the other has folded into his alt mode.

The rusty, old looking microbus alt mode sticks out like a sore thumb among the flashy Racers. Then he forces himself to transform, because it's rude to stare, and he really won't figure out why Dreadbot looks like that by standing around anyway.

He falls into line beside Jazz, Dreadbot and Crosshairs leading the way, and Blackout and Nitro follow them from high up in the sky. Barricade tries to remember where there's shooting ranges, but they're not going towards any of those he remembers, and it was a long time since he updated himself on it, so there may have popped up new ones.

At first, they do a seemingly aimless lap, driving in a circle, but then they head towards the edge of the city, a rather fancy suburban neighborhood.

::This is where I grew up.:: Crosshairs comms them all. 

::We should blow something up here.:: Dreadbot says, and it's hard to tell if he's really joking.

::Nah, my brother doesn' live 'ere anymore.::

They drive onto the freeway, and leave the city behind, speeding up, but still sticking to the speed limit. The road stretches out in front of them through the vast badlands, and to Barricade's knowledge, there's nothing but rest stops, a few motels, and energon shops for miles and miles. He doesn't say anything though, because the others clearly know where they're going.

They pass two rest stops, but at the third, they pull off the road and into the parking lot. It's empty, but they don't linger. Crosshairs leads the way around the rocks and crystals that provide a bit of shelter from the wind, and then they're going off the map. As soon as they've left the public roads behind, everyone speeds up. Dreadbot guns his engine and accelerates impressively, showing that his exterior may look like he has seen better days and lived in the gutter for a long time, but his finely tuned engine doesn't match his looks.

Barricade hasn't spent much time driving on gravel, and it takes some effort to get the hang of it. He doesn't fall behind, but he certainly doesn't feel safe keeping up.

::I need to flex my wings, I'll do a fly by.:: Nitro comms them, and then he's off, rapidly becoming nothing more than a tiny dot on the horizon.

::Show off!:: Dreadbot snickers.

::Looks damn good when 'e's showin' off though...::

::What he lacks in processors, he makes up for with speed.:: Blackout grunts.

::Don't hate the player, hate the game! Jealousy isn't a good look on you, B.O.:: Nitro taunts from somewhere far off in the distance.

::I'm not jealous of you, dimwit. Well, maybe your front landing gear...:: Blackout grumbles with grudging admiration.

::Yeh, but ye know tha' ye 'ave the sexiest hub I've ever seen, Blackie.:: Crosshairs says, voice just a little bit rough.


	266. Chapter 266

It shouldn't be surprising that "the range" isn't one of the legal shooting ranges in the city, but somehow, going far out into the desert to shoot wasn't an option Barricade considered.

The mechs from the first group are waiting for them, lounging in the sun, and if they're impatient, their demeanor doesn't betray it.

Blackout transforms and lands with a heavy thud, flexing his rotors a couple of times before they smooth down into their normal position along his back. 

"Mech, it was a good flight."

"Yeah, gotta be hard to just have one alt mode." The mech Barricade recognizes from Crosshairs's memories as Springer says snarkily.

"Shut up, or I'm going to sit on you, little one." Blackout rumbles, and the two of them starts tussling, laughing as they wrestle on the ground, uncaring of the damage their paint jobs are taking.

Nitro Zeus comes in fast, slowing down as he approaches, and then he transforms fluidly to land on surprisingly light pedes, robbing Barricade of a peek at the allegedly admirable landing gear.

_Not that he'd know what to look for, what makes landing gear more or less appealing, really? And not like he wants to even be caught dead ogling Nitro Zeus of all mechs._

_How would that even work? _

_I... Fuck, I don't know._

"Everything is clear and good to go. Motormaster is en route, he should be here in a couple of minutes. I dropped the targets as we said, and I made a special one for Cross." Nitro reports to Hide.

"Sounds good. Felt good to do some recon?"

Nitro exhales in what seems like relief, stance relaxing minutely. "Primus, _yes_. I feel so relaxed."

"Good. And as soon as Moto shows up, we'll get to blow off some more steam."

"A perfect day, Prez. The only thing left to arrange is some good fucking afterwards."

"As if that's ever a problem." Ironhide laughs.

_At least they do have their priorities clearly mapped out._

Crosshairs bounces in place a couple of times, the only one of the pleasurebots showing some impatience.

"You like shooting, I gather?" Barricade asks.

"Yeh, I love i'!"

"Something you used to do when you were younger?"

_Mechs with more money than Barricade's family often joined clubs for various pass time activities._

"Nah, Hide taught me. 'e thought it might come in 'andy, an' it turns out I really enjoy it too. Oh, look, Motormaster! 'e's bringing the guns."

The Truck is coming in fast over the dusty ground, not slowed down much by hauling a trailer. He comes to a halt and disconnects from the trailer before transforming.

"Finally!" Nitro shouts.

"Like you could get everything here faster, thruster-helm."

Blackout and Springer has stopped wrestling on the ground and head for the doors to the trailer. Barricade stays behind with the pleasurebots in spite of his impatience. Jazz wraps an arm around his waist.

"This is gonna be so fun! Ya know, I never saw ya shoot before." Jazz murmurs. 

"Hope I still remember how to calculate targeting. It was an awfully long time ago." Barricade mutters back.


	267. Chapter 267

Barricade knows a lot about the gun laws, but it doesn't take an expert to know that there's a high probability that not a single one of the items being unloaded from the trailer and attached to the mounts on the brothers' frames is legal.

_It's fucking _military equipment, _fucking cannons, and lasers, and grenade launchers..._

He just stares, ambivalent. 

_They probably wouldn't do this if it wasn't safe, but at the same time, it's enough fire power to fucking evaporate an entire city — maybe even a small planet — and he had this picture in his helm of motorized targets and Enforcer issue blasters..._

"Got you something special..." Ironhide murmurs to Crosshairs, taking out an honest to Primus Sniper rifle — one that's definitely more advanced than anything they ever had on the force — and handing it to the pleasurebot.

"Aaw, _Daddy!_ Tha's so sweet of ye!"

"Selfish too, though. I really like watching you shoot..." Ironhide purrs, patting Crosshairs's aft.

"So, what's your tool of choice?" Jazz asks him, interrupting his eavesdropping.

"Don't really know. I've only used standard issue weapons..." He says hesitantly, still focused on the brothers mounting guns in brackets all over their frames with practiced ease.

"Try this one then." Dreadbot says, handing him what looks like a smaller version of the cannon Hide just mounted on his right arm.

Barricade grabs it, surprised by how heavy it is; he's forced to shift his weight to not drop it. Dreadbot smirks as he catches it.

"I know, but it's hella fun to shoot with. Connect it to your own systems with the cable under the barrel. You do have targeting systems, don't you?"

"Uhm... I do, but I don't know if they support integration like that? I only ever tried the _'aim with your optics and pull the trigger'_ method..."

"Shame, but you should give it a try anyway. Your systems may support it even if you don't know it yet, and if they don't, you'll have fun with that baby anyway." Dreadbot says, and without waiting for an answer, he walks back to the trailer to pull out more equipment.

"You look very fancy like that, Nitro!" Dreadbot calls to the big flier, and Barricade's optics search the Flier out in the crowd of their own accord.

_Fancy certainly is to push it, but he can admit that Nitro looks impressive with the guns in place. _

The brothers all do, actually, looking even bigger than usually with all the weaponry attached to their frames.

_Is that the level of armament they'd wear when still in the military? They certainly look intimidating enough to make most mechs roll over and capitulate._

Then Ironhide swings around, and without any visible pause to aim, he fires off a couple of quick rounds. Somewhere in the distance, something is blown up, leaving a cloud of dust and debris, and a small fire.

"Let's get this show started!" Ironhide shouts.

"Fuck yeah!" Nitro answers, before firing a round himself.

Then the brothers spread out, scanning the area for the targets.


	268. Chapter 268

Barricade zooms in on one of the targets, and his spark does a queasy flip when the little thing skitters away.

"They're... they're not sentient, are they?" He mumbles to nobody in particular.

"Sure they are! There are so many street-younglings, nobody is going to miss a few, and this is more merciful than letting them stay on the streets to be raped and whatnot." Dreadbot says cheerily.

Barricade stutters an unintelligible whine of horror.

Knock Out cuffs Dreadbot around the back of his helm. "Of course they're not sentient! Geez, what are you thinking?!"

"I-I... I don't know, honestly. They just look so real..." Barricade mumbles, embarrassed about the implication.

"And we don't use technimals either. Blackout suggested it one time, but Cross freaked out and wouldn't stop wailing like a sparkling until Hide, Sideswipe, Springer, and Nitro all swore across their sparks to vote for making that against the rules."

Crosshairs shrugs, clearly not embarrassed by the incident. "I really like turbohounds. Nitro says 'e's allergic, so I can' ge' one, though. Those targets are jus' li'l drones, no sparks, no real intelligence."

Calmed by that, Barricade turns back to watch the brothers in action.

It seems to be more chaos than order to Barricade. No waiting in line, no getting into the right stance for maximum balance and accuracy. Targets have been spread out all over the place, and everyone shoots at all of them in what at first seems like a haphazard order, but it soon becomes clear that the brothers seamlessly coordinate their shots to not shoot at the same target at the same time, moving fluidly between their different guns for different targets with long practiced ease. The only thing tattling on it not being a real military drill is their excited shouts, and raucous laughter. 

_Or maybe they did that in battle too? They're apparently built to enjoy the fight._

"We get te play when they're done." Crosshairs tells him, as Barricade is the only one who hasn't been to one of these events before.

"Yeah, get some!" Nitro cackles when Ironhide uses the massive cannon he has mounted on his left arm, and there's a loud clang when Nitro high fives Ironhide. "Nice shot, Prez."

"Hide is so fuckin' ho' when 'e's fully equipped." Crosshairs mutters to Dreadbot.

"He is. But seriously, Nitro's shoulder cannon... Mh, I just want to lick it."

"'e'd let ye, but ye might burn yer glossa." Crosshairs snickers.

Barricade turns his attention to the cannon he's holding, trying to figure out how to use all the settings. It's far more advanced than any guns he ever used. Jazz leans closer.

"Nervous?" He murmurs quietly.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Your field."

"I haven't gone shooting for such a long time, and I never used something like this... Feels like I have to be good, considering I'm... I _was_ an Enforcer."

"Just start on a low settin', n' get a feel for tha targetin', n' stabilizin' that's built inta it. I don' think anyone here's expectin' an Enforcer ta have as good targetin' as tha brothers. They're made for this. No pressure, jus' have some fun."

Barricade nods, plugging in the cable Dreadbot told him about to busy himself with trying to connect to it and figure it out while the Warframes have their fun. He still keeps a couple of optics on the gang members, because it's rather fascinating to watch.

_Their target acquisition must be made while they move towards a target, because they never stop to aim before firing. It's just fluid motion, and then they fire, but somehow they almost always seem to hit._

Someone fires something that must be a cluster bomb of some sort, because it crackles like fireworks when it detonates.

"Could take out a scraplet swarm with those babies!" Springer cackles, slapping Roadbuster on the back.


	269. Chapter 269

When they're done, there's not much left of the targets.

_Makes cleaning up and covering their tracks much easier..._

Nitro Zeus, Blackout, and Springer takes to the sky again, and Barricade watches as they put out new targets.

"Your turn." Ironhide says to the waiting pleasurebots. "One target close and one distant each. I think most of you will recognize which ones are yours..."

Barricade zooms in to look at all the little drones ambling around in their spots.

_Most of them have pictures attached over what would be their face-plates, but there's no picture he recognizes._

Crosshairs starts cackling gleefully, and soon the others join in.

"Thank ye!"

"You're welcome." Nitro Zeus snickers, patting Crosshairs's aft.

Barricade is confused, but then Jazz points at something.

"Out there. Really far out, ya hafta zoom in really much."

_Two sets of two little drones, and they're... _

"Are they fucking?!" Barricade asks, incredulous.

Crosshairs laughs again. "Yeh! It's Dirge, an' my Sire." He says, laughing so hard he can hardly speak.

Barricade looks again, and now he recognizes them from Crosshairs's memories. One of the sets has Dirge fucking Crosshairs's Sire from behind, the other set is the other way around, with Dirge receiving.

"I thought you would enjoy that." Nitro says, sounding smug.

"I _love_ i'!"

"You go first. I've been waiting for this all week." Nitro says, blatantly pressing up against Crosshairs.

_Of course the Warframes will get off on seeing their hookers play with guns._

"I'll do two, then ye can do me, then I'll do the other two." Crosshairs purrs.

"Yes!" Nitro Zeus hisses.

"I'll go first. You can have my sloppy seconds." Ironhide says to Nitro.

"Mm, sloppy seconds..." Nitro says, making it sound like the best thing, and not just... _gross_.

Then Crosshairs walks over to a crystal with a fairly flat top, and climbs onto it. He stretches out, adjusting the support rods to give him a good working angle with an ease that tells on this not being the first time he does this.

"His aft looks extra good in that position." Nitro stage whispers.

"Ye, and jus' so ye know: I'm no' wearing my valve panel." Crosshairs says offhandedly. "Think I'll go fer their arms first."

Ironhide unsuccessfully tries to stifle an engine rev.


	270. Chapter 270

The first shot goes a little high, the bullet zipping past the drone's arm. The little things scramble apart, going in opposite directions.

"Pit!" Crosshairs hisses.

"It'll be easier hitting their arms when they're split up." Blackout says.

"Yeh, but I 'ate missin'."

"New weapon, you wouldn't have missed with your other gun. It takes time to get used to it. Your targeting programs need to calibrate themselves for it. It's the same for all of us." Ironhide says.

Crosshairs's only answer is a deep vent, and then he pulls the trigger again.

This time, it's a hit. The little drone looking like Dirge loses what would've been it's servo, if it had been a real mech.

"Yes!" Crosshairs hisses triumphantly.

"Nice." Nitro Zeus rumbles.

Crosshairs fires again, this time taking the other drone's would-be servo off, showing that he can handle two moving targets, and do it damned well. The drones change direction as a result of the hits, running towards each other again.

"Will they start fuckin' again if I let them reach each other?" Crosshairs asks.

"Don't know. I suppose they would. They're programmed to keep doing it..." Nitro says.

Roadbuster starts laughing. "Did they fuck around in your subspace the whole time when you brought them?"

"No, I let them have a go at your Carrier before we left, so they kept still for a while after that."

"That glitch would probably enjoy it." Roadbuster sneers.

Crosshairs completely ignores the bickering, successfully taking the entire arm off of the little Dirge-drone.

_He's better than the Snipers they had at the precinct. Much better._

"Cross didn't have targeting programs — most of us didn't — so Hide made a copy of his and gave it to us. Turns out something about Crosshairs processors makes him able to use them with almost scary efficiency. This far out, he's the most accurate, even better than the brothers. I mean, they can just fire something heavy enough to leave nothing but a crater and blow that drone to pit, but he's the most accurate with a gun like that one." Knock Out tells Barricade.

"And that's fucking hot." Nitro Zeus adds his very _professional_ opinion. "Are you getting wet, Cross?"

"Of course I am!" Crosshairs says, then he fires again, taking the other arm off the drone. He moans exaggeratedly, as if he derives pleasure straight from the gun. "_Yes!_" He wiggles his aft a couple of times before taking another shot, again hitting his target.

_He has never seen someone who is that accurate with so many distractions around. Crosshairs may first and foremost be a pleasure pet to a gang, but there's no doubt about him being dangerous with a rifle._

_Just as good with other "rifles" too, heh._

Barricade cringes inwardly at the crude joke his processor conjured up.

_Nitro Zeus's jokes are more than enough grossness._


	271. Chapter 271

Crosshairs takes his sweet time to dismantle the drones piece by piece with the bullets — even if it's impressive to watch, Barricade is getting impatient to get to do something himself — but as soon as the first two drones are reduced to scattered components, things move fast.

Ironhide flicks Crosshairs's coattails to the side, exposing that he does indeed wear a half panel that looks like a regular one when he walks around, but stretched out on his front and with his legs slightly spread, his valve is exposed.

Ironhide growls at the sight, two thick digits easily slipping into the Sniper's slick valve. Crosshairs spreads his legs further to grant access.

"Ye always ge' so randy when ye've fired yer cannons." Crosshairs snickers, but it doesn't sound like he minds.

"Yeah, and watching you shoot like that — half naked nonetheless — really doesn't help. I'm so fucking hard right now..."

"Then ye better get inside me." Crosshairs purrs.

"Come on, Prez... share?" Nitro Zeus interjects.

"Tag team. You get my sloppy seconds. Unless Cross really wants two dicks at once?"

"I like it an' all, but I think Nitro should plow the field ye already sowed..." Crosshairs leers, as if that thought is really tantalizing.

"Sloppy seconds it is then." Ironhide rumbles, clearly amused.

Barricade looks away from the increasingly explicit display, focusing on those waiting for their turn. Jazz catches his questing stares.

"Dreadbot's next. In-house always go first — and have first pick — of everything."

_Of course..._

_At least Hide lets those who have earned it have their privileges._

Barricadegrabs one of the bottles of coolant and takes a seat on the ground.

_He'll probably be the last one to have a go, considering he's last to move into the house, and he doesn't want to try to push it and possibly make some enemies among the pleasurebots._

"Did you know how to shoot before you wound up with Hide?" He asks Jazz, who sits down next to him.

"Primus, _no!_ I never knew anyone who could supply me with guns — it wasn' like I had friends with that sorta contacts, I just hooked, 'n most of my customers were jus' horny regular mechs — an ya know I wouldn' be able ta get myself a gun license. I could never afford tha training needed, n' my convictions would've stopped it anyway. I carried knives for safety."

_It makes sense: getting a license does require several hours on the shooting range, with a certified instructor, and passing a test at the end of the course. And Jazz may just have been a petty criminal, but a criminal nonetheless._

"How was your first time shooting?"

"I was completely useless, a danger ta everyone!" Jazz giggles at the memory, hiding his optics behind his servos. "Springer said that it was the worst he's seen so far, n' Nitro was actually gobsmacked for a long time. Hide just shook his helm n' gave me a memory stick with targetin' n' _safety_ protocols while Nitro fixed Hide's pede. I stupidly thought I wouldn' need 'em before I started, but I was terrifyingly wrong. I was lucky ta hit Hide, n' not someone who'd get really mad 'bout it. Ugh, I was so terrified when I realized I hit him."


	272. Chapter 272

Barricade just gapes att Jazz for long moments.

"How in the pit...? _Why_? How did you think that was a good idea? To not have safety protocols, I mean."

Jazz shrugs. "I dunno. I thought it was overrated with protocols jus' for that. I think I was kinda desperate ta show that I wasn' this helpless dweeb..."

"So you shot fucking _Ironhide _in the pede?!" Barricade hisses to not raise the attention of the others, horrified by the possible outcome of that particular fuck up of all fuck ups.

"Tha safety was off, n' I didn' realize, so I happened ta pop off a round, n' it ricocheted against a crystal, n' it ripped a few small lines in his pede. Nothin' serious, but after my time with Onslaught, n' that crew, I was convinced I was gonna be killed. Think Nitro was 'bout ta do it, he's really serious 'bout keeping tha Prez alive n' well. Hide jus' gave me this look that showed exactly how much of an idiot he considered me for sayin' I didn' need tha protocols he offered, handed me that memory stick, n' said I'd never even touch a gun again if I didn' get my scrap together."

_It could've been so much worse. In fact, if Ironhide had been a certified instructor, or a police officer, he might've gotten to see Jazz in prison. It's not something he wishes had happened. Hide not beating Jazz to a pile of scrap is a testament to the mech being more patient and forgiving than what he lets on at times._

"Hey! No fucking against my trailer, fucker!" Motormaster calls out, and Barricade's optics are drawn back to the ongoing interfacing.

Ironhide seems done, leaning against a crystal, watching Nitro Zeus fucking Crosshairs. The Flier probably had planned to smash Crosshairs's back against the trailer, but he apparently respects Motormaster's request, and is holding Crosshairs suspended in the air, slowly sliding in and out of the Corvette's slick valve, looking indecisive about what to use for leverage with his slow, shallow thrusting.

In the background, something is blown up, and Dreadbot cheers, quickly joined by the other pleasurebots. Blackout rumbles an encouraging comment on Dreadbot's technique.

"I can't say I was hard ta convince after that debacle, I think my spark didn' slow down until I managed ta fall inta recharge that night."

_Not hard to imagine, with Nitro apparently considering to cut Jazz's life short. He has been so preoccupied with being annoyed and disgusted with the crude Flier, he hasn't really thought about how dangerous — and downright terrifying — he probably is when the leering and innuendos give way for deadly seriousness._

Dreadbot is done, and Knock Out is the one shooting. Springer is being helpful in a handsy way, pressed up against Knock Out's back, servos sliding down his arms to correct his stance. Apparently, the Racer can't shoot on the move the same way the brothers can, but Springer certainly doesn't seem to mind teaching him a thing or two. Crosshairs is sitting on the ground, leaning his back against a crystal. His legs are blatantly spread, and his lack of panel exposes the way transfluid is oozing out of his valve, and he looks very pleased with the day's activities so far. Nitro and Hide doesn't seem as spent as the pleasurebot, and have turned back to watch Knock Out shoot.

_For something so far out of what _ordinary_ used to be, it feels disturbingly normal._


	273. Chapter 273

"Jazz! Your turn!" Roadbuster calls out, interrupting their smalltalk.

Serious topics have been replaced with talk about their first date, and Barricade has been so happy discussing that — and tentatively plan another day for just the two of them — he has forgotten about his impatience.

Hot Rod and Bumblebee have already had their turns, and their drones are reduced to small pieces. Springer and Knock Out have disappeared behind a crystal, but the noises they make leave little to the imagination.

Jazz grabs his gun and connects it to the data port on his wrist as he stands.

"Who does your drones look like?" Barricade asks before Jazz walks off.

"Brawl, n' Overlord."

_From what he has heard, he can understand why Brawl is a candidate, but Overlord, he hasn't really heard anything about. More than him being dead through what's apparently an assassination, and that he was a brutal bastard. Considering Jazz's past, he has to be something special to earn being called brutal..._

He's curious, so very curious, but he knows how hard it has been on Jazz to talk about his past, so Barricade vows to never push Jazz into talking about it.

Jazz lines up his gun, getting into a semi-acceptable stance, and Barricade shakes his helm to clear it.

_It won't do to not watch Jazz doing this just because he's stuck in his own helm._

The first round hits the furthest target, but it isn't a neat hit, and a clean deactivation, in spite of Jazz's gun of choice is pretty powerful. The little drone rolls away, clearly damaged, but still functional.

"Take it easy, if you can't hit well shooting on the move, take a second of stillness to aim. Gradually, you'll get quicker when you learn how to do it." Dreadbot encourages Jazz.

"Doesn' feel like I can be still when the drone is runnin''..." Jazz says, optics zooming in on the drone.

"You need to follow it, of course, but then you sort of need to imagine that stillness. Let the protocols calculate the distance and trajectory, find the spot where it's going, the you have a few milliseconds to be ready when the targeting gives green light, and you pull the trigger." Roadbuster instructs.

Jazz slowly turns, following the fleeing target, and then he pulls the trigger again. This time, it's a perfect hit. The others cheer.

"Fuck you, Brawl!" Dreadbot whoops, fistpumping. "Nice shot!"

"Heh, ya know tha only sad part 'bout gettin' better ta shoot is that tha targets are destroyed so quickly." Jazz says, clearly a little flustered by the praise.

"You just don't quit until you're done, no matter what state of the target."

"Sounds like a plan." Jazz says, firing off another round that just grazes the target.

"Now you got sloppy. You can do better than that, as we just saw." Blackout says.

"Yeah, I jus' tried ta be quicker this time, but I'm clearly not quite there yet..."

"Just keep taking that tiny pause to aim until you get it right, then you can start to speed things up."

Jazz takes the advice, obliterating what's left of the little drone with shot after shot, the other drone cluelessly waiting for it's turn.


	274. Chapter 274

"You're up next." Jazz says, pushing Barricade in the back towards the spot all the pleasurebots have stood when shooting.

Barricade's spark spins wildly.

_Everyone is watching, and they probably know that he has been an Enforcer, so it feels like he can't suck at this. He should be a good shot, but he has never handled a gun like the one he's holding right now..._

"Has the gun connected to your targeting programs?" Ironhide asks.

"Yes, and they seem to be compatible..." 

_There's a green little light at the bottom of the grid and crosshairs overlay on his optical feed, that has to be right...?_

"Yours and Crosshairs's last two drones are the only ones left. Your targets are anonymous, I didn't know what face to put on them." Nitro Zeus says, pointing at the two drones that are Barricade's. "I'm sorry they're not special, but it was impossible for me, you know, with the way you haven't allowed me to... get to _know_ you." The last bit is a leer.

_Nope, and it wouldn't be worth it just to have faces on the drones, not with the big, ugly oaf. He's probably a few seconds shy of being a one minute mech too._..

"It's fine." Barricade manages to keep from sounding snappy.

"Show us what you've got." Ironhide gives the go-ahead.

Barricade lifts the gun to a position where he can hold it steady, even if it's a heavy piece. He focuses on the grid, which feels very strange, since he's used to line the gun up, and look down the physical sight.

He goes for the closest one first, waits that fraction of a section to lock onto it, and then he pulls the trigger. Barricade is forced to take a half step back with one pede to keep his balance when the recoil hits, so he doesn't see what happens, but the cheering from the audience tells him that it's a hit. He zooms in on the drone again, feeling his spark slow down as he lets out a vent he didn't know he was holding.

"Not bad for a cop." Ironhide says, nodding approvingly.

The little drone is missing a leg, crawling around on the ground. 

"Not bad for a cannon virgin..." Nitro adds, bringing quite a few laughs.

_Fuck him._

_You just said you didn't want to..._

_Not like that!!_

Barricade aims again to take another shot.

_It feels a bit strange. Sure, he knows that the little drone isn't sentient, isn't really more alive than the energon dispenser back in the kitchen, but it looks enough like a mech, and it's wounded by him... He had to pull his gun a few times back when he was on the force, but he never had to use it._

He squeezes the trigger again, and this time the little thing is obliterated.

"That thing is fully automatic. Try holding the trigger and just aim." Blackout says. "Brace for the recoils, though, little bit."

He'd bristle about being called little if it wasn't for literally just coming up to Blackout's interface plate even when stretching.

He braces for the recoil, because it is kind of powerful, and then he squeezes the trigger again, holding it.

The gun fires in a rapid succession, powerful blasts that rocks his frame with the recoils. It feels a bit uncontrolled, and he stops, but it has already made ten little craters in the ground where the target used to be.

"Do it again. Just keep track of the targeting grid, and focus on that." Nitro says, as if he knows why Barricade stopped.

He does, even if it felt a bit out of hand the first time.

_This time, it feels better, now that he knows what to expect. _

Following Nitro's instructions, he keeps track of where he wants the shots to land, and his spark is speeding up with exhilaration.

_There's so much power in that gun, and he can control it._

He stops the shooting with an excited whoop.

"It's really fun, isn't it?" Ironhide asks, smirking at him.

"It's awesome!"


	275. Chapter 275

_It's over far too soon._

Nobody tells him that his time is up, or anything like that, but his targets are long obliterated, and it feels like he's just hogging the range, even if he isn't sure how long the others went for, or even how long he has been shooting himself.

_He got so excited, he lost track of his chronometer._

The only one left to shoot is Crosshairs, his two little drones still fucking far out in the distance. Barricade looks at his gun indecisively.

"Thank you so much for this opportunity. Should I do some maintenance or something on this now...?" He says, flicking his optics between the brothers to address them all.

"Just put it in the truck. It's nowhere near the usage hour count to require service yet." Nitro says.

"Okay..."

"Everyone gets the afternoon and early evening off. We're throwing a party tonight, because why round off a good day with a mediocre night?" Ironhide says. "We're staying to watch Crosshairs shoot again, but if you want to go back home now, that's fine. Stay alert for tails, and at the least bit of suspicion, call one of us."

Hot Rod, and Bumblebee salutes Ironhide — forms rather appalling — and then they fold into their alt modes, speeding away over the gritty ground.

"Ya wanna stay n' watch tha rest, or should we go?" Jazz asks him.

_It's impressive to see Crosshairs shoot, but he has seen it, and he really doesn't need to see the orgy that'll probably be the end result of the shooting..._

"Let's go home. We can hang out until the party."

_They can fuck in Jazz's berth, and then they can cuddle, watching TV, to gather some energy for a long night of partying._

Jazz nods approvingly. "Sounds good." He turns back to the brothers. "Hey, Nitro! We're goin' home. Will check in while goin', n' will ping ya when we get home."

"Good." Nitro says, ogling them as they transform and speed away.

::Sweet tail ends!:: He comms them as a parting shot, obviously unashamed about his staring.

_Horny bastard._


	276. Chapter 276

Jazz makes a wrong turn on the way back to the house.

::That's not the closest way...:: 

::Jus' a bit of a detour ta avoid Con territory.:: Jazz answers, voice a bit unsteady.

Barricade feels something inside him twitch, but he can't say if it's from pity, or nerves.

::Didn' ya look that up after that time ya went searchin' for a job?::

::I... no, I didn't.::

_He's determined to not become part of Ironhide's stable, so he shouldn't need to know what territories are safe, and which are not. He's not a part of that world, he's just... a temporary house guest._

::I'll make a copy of my map n' send it ta ya when we get home. Ya really shouldn' run around not knowin' where it's safe ta go.::

::Sounds like a good idea.::

_He doesn't need to use it, but if it makes Jazz feel better that he has it, he won't argue against getting it._

It's not that bad of a detour, and it doesn't take long before they're back at the house. The mechs who stayed behind are nowhere to be seen, but that's not uncommon. Barricade hasn't really seen much of Drift, and he gets the distinct feeling that the pleasurebot doesn't like him.

_Not like that matters, he can't really appease everyone, and if Drift doesn't like him, that's mainly Drift's problem._

"Hot Rod just commed me; they're shopping for tha party tonight. We should go help them." Jazz says as soon as they're inside the door.

"Aaw, come on! I thought we had the afternoon off? Can't we just go to your room and rest a little?"

Jazz gives him a rather significant look. "We do have tha afternoon off, but someone has ta get stuff for tha party. The more mechs help out, the less any single mech has ta do." He says sharply.

"I know, but I just thought we'd get to spend some time together." He pouts.

"We do get ta spend time together! Jus' not in my berth, but we'll go shoppin'!" 

_Definitely not the same, but then again, shopping would be something they had to do now and then if they had their own place, so maybe it's an opportunity to see what life will be like when they get out of here, and not all their spare time will be spent fucking or cuddling?_

"Alright, we'll help. Maybe we can find some good, sweet energon or something?"

_There's always loads of high grade of different kinds, but most are the more bitter types, strong and burning. He likes sweeter drinks, and if they're in charge of stocking up, they can hopefully add a few things not usually on the shopping list without the brothers getting mad about it. Everyone was in a very good mood after the shooting..._

"Yeah, Sideswipe handed Bee a bunch'a credits, so we can go wild!"


	277. Chapter 277

They catch up with Hot Rod and Bumblebee at the supermarket. The other two have already filled one cart with snacks, and low grade energon of different flavors to mix with high grades, and Jazz and Barricade find them in the high grade alley.

"Ooh, I love this one!" Hot Rod says excitedly, holding up a bottle of an already mixed drink. "Reminds me of a vacation off planet when I graduated from school. Just soaking up the sunlight, drinking... Happy days."

"Take four bottles then. I want some too, n' I know both Sunny n' Breakdown drink sweet stuff like that when nobody is watchin'." Jazz says.

Bumblebee beeps something that's probably a snort, and then he starts to laugh.

"Yeah, but don' tell anyone I said so. Ya know how they are, with tha tough images ta maintain. Can't drink bitch-drinks, now can they?" Jazz says.

"It's kind of ridiculous, really." Hot Rod says.

"Oh, I agree, but ya know how they are. Especially Sunny."

"I actually thought he really didn't like stuff like that. I brought him something like that once, when I was new, and he batted it away, the glass breaking against the wall, and he yelled at me, and I thought I was going to pee myself, I was so scared. He seemed so mad." 

"That's Sunny for ya!" Jazz says cheerily. "He certainly didn' mind tha drinks I was mixin' for him tha last time I was alone with him, though."

"You were awake for it?"

"Tha tranquilizers take a lot of time ta have effect on me, so we were waitin' for 'em ta kick in." Jazz says, picking a few bottles from a shelf and putting them in the other cart Bumblebee and Hot Rod is pulling along.

"I really hate that." Hot Rod says vehemently.

"You hate everything!" Bumblebee suddenly says, catching Barricade completely off guard.

"You can talk?" He asks incredulously, even if it's probably offensive.

"Sometimes, he uses recordings, or cut stuff together from radio/TV feeds." Hot Rod says. "And, yeah, you're right: I really do hate everything that has to do with interfacing."

"Ya really are in the wrong line of work."

"I know, but there's not much I can do about it right now."

_Maybe Hot Rod isn't that much different? He really doesn't want to interface as a job, even if he enjoys it for leisure. Hot Rod doesn't seem to want it at all, but being stuck doing it for now is something they have in common..._

"What about you, Barricade? You've had quite a long time on trial with just Hide. You think he's going to let you go to the next level tonight? And let the other brothers try you to see if you're worth keeping." Hot Rod asks.


	278. Chapter 278

It's as if the ground has opened up underneath him — a second of vertigo, and then he's free falling. 

_Except that reality is nowhere near that kind, so the ground isn't going to close above him and take him away from this situation. _

Barricade's spark has gone cold, and his tank is turning queasily.

"I mean, it must be a pit to be left hanging in uncertainty for so long. You're nowhere near a vote at this point, so you have no idea if you will actually be allowed to stay. No matter how much you try to impress Hide, you still would need majority, and you can't really work for that now, can you?"

_It doesn't make it feel a single pixel better._

"I remember my trial period. I really didn't want to become a hooker, and I had such a hard time to do it. I mean, I still find it hard, but back then, I could hardly keep from acting like they were assaulting me. I literally had to keep a scoreboard of how many times I fragged up and was terrible — and who I ruined it with — so I could keep a balance: one frag up meant I had to keep it together for the next lay to even the score. Got in with one vote majority." Hot Rod says rather offhandedly, giving a bottle a critical look before putting it in the cart.

_So many layers of fragged up, he doesn't even know where to begin to count. He's curious, of course, but he does know that this isn't the time or place to ask questions, even if it would be the perfect distraction from the dread that's threatening to drown his spark._

"I-I... uhm, I haven't really thought about it." He mumbles.

"You should push for it, get it over with, so you can settle in, or move on. At least you'll know."

Bumblebee makes a series of beeps and churrs that are unintelligible to Barricade.

"I don't really see the difference. Unwanted facing is unwanted facing." Hot Rod answers, putting more bottles in the cart, next to the ones Jazz just chose.

"Bee jus' said he gets why ya'd rather stay on trial than go work tha streets."

The energon in Barricade's tank rises into his throat, and he swallows repeatedly.

"Whore mongers or customers doesn't really matter. They all want someplace warm to stick their dick so bad they pay for it in one way or another."

"I like doin' it with a few of the brothers. I mean, none of 'em are really bad in tha sack, n' it's tha least I can do." Jazz adds his opinion, but that knowledge really doesn't make it feel any better for Barricade.

"Sure you do!" Hot Rod says in a sweet voice that sound anything but sincere.

Bumblebee beeps again, seemingly trying to deescalate the situation, and he waves a bottle with a questioning gesture. Hot Rod nods approvingly, and the bottle goes into the cart.

Jazz snorts. "Yeah, that was awful!" Jazz turns towards Barricade. "Last month, I had this customer who insisted on takin' me ta this shabby motel, even if tha alley probably was cleaner than that place. Anyway, I commed security, n' went with him. He was clumsy as all pit, n' could hardly get it up, but he finally got inside, n' was humpin' me over tha table, when tha door bursted open! Turns it he had a conjux, n' said conjux found out! Conjux started screamin', my customer was apologizin' — spike still bobbin' proudly, 'cuz he tried some sort'a pills ta make it last before we started — n' all I wanted was ta get my money so I could leave..."

Jazz's story is interrupted by an affronted gasp, and they all turn around to find a mech staring at them, face flushed, servos clapped over the audials of a youngling.

"You disgusting buymechs! Can't you at least keep your slutty, depraved ways out of audialshot of impressionable younglings? Since you can't keep your legs closed, and leave others' conjuxes alone, the least you could do is keep away from the optics of the public. You disgusting little whores!"

Barricade is just gaping, because someone being so openly demeaning is shocking, especially since he knows that these mechs are just trying to get by.

_The mech is meaning you too, you know..._

_What?! I... No! I mean..._

"Oh, shut up! Dragging that impressionable youngling to the high grade aisle, and calling other mechs derogatory slurs has to be a much worse example than us discussing someone choosing to pay for a really hot frame. Sit your aft down, glitch." Hot Rod says, cocking his hip to show off that hot frame, before waving dismissively.

The mech makes and affronted noise, before hurrying away, youngling in tow.

"Come on, let's finish this before the glitch finds himself an upset mob of hypocrites to yell insults at us as if their conjuxes aren't paying for our services of their own free will, but are being forced by us."


	279. Chapter 279

They hurry up, filling the cart with all sorts of booze, not discriminating as carefully as before, just grabbing the bottles that are a staple in the bar. Barricade helps out with numb digits, feeling detached in a horrified way he hasn't really felt since he watched the evidence against him be piled high in front of him, piece after painful piece.

_It may happen tonight, he may have to give himself to someone else. Somehow, he has gotten used to dealing with Ironhide, and even if he has been very reluctant to some things they've done, at least he had somehow managed to forget how it felt those first nights, before he got just a bit numb to the situation._

_Stop whining. At least you get pleasure from being fucked by Hide. Hot Rod seems to hate all facing, so it's probably worse for him._

_Just because it's bad for Hot Rod doesn't make i less bad for him._

_No, but it's worse for Hot Rod. You're not the only one bad things happen to, and other mechs _can_ have it worse..._

_Of course they can have it worse! He's just not really prepared for what may happen tonight._

They leave the store without any interceptions from the moral brigade, and one of the others have ordered delivery of the goods, so a van is waiting for them. It's a good thing someone else had enough processors to think of that, because Barricade certainly didn't think about how little his own subspace will hold, and how the others probably doesn't have much more space. And carrying the stuff in their own baggage compartments would be very unwieldy, with one mech having to distribute it all when they had transformed, if everything would even fit.

"I think we have everything." Jazz says.

Bumblebee nods, watching the delivery mech drive away.

Barricade has no clue.

"Let's go. We need to get everything unpacked, and I want to have time to take a nap before the party." Hot Rod says, and it's easy to tell that he isn't excited about the party at all.

_He can relate._

They all fold into their alt modes, going back at just above the speed limit, Hot Rod leading the way, eager to get home, but apparently not up to attracting attention from the Enforcers.

::Do you think Hide is going to let the others have a g... uhm, proposition me tonight?:: He comms Jazz on a personal line, fleetingly wondering if Bumblebee speaks over comms, or if he just beeps.

::I dunno. I think he'll tell ya beforehand if that's that case, but if ya're uncertain, ya should ask.::

_There's no way he's going to ask, and accidentally give the bastard the idea that he wants that. He'll try to avoid it until the day Ironhide boots him from his berth, and then he'll deal with it, if he hasn't gotten a job. Which he should really get on top of, instead of frolicking in the desert, playing with military grade guns... _

They get back to the house to find the delivery van parked outside the gates. Barricade can sense the mech's em field, and he's nervous, but a bit excited.

_Typical stupid youngling, nervously thrilled by running an errand for the local criminals. As if Hide and his crew are rockstars._

They unload the groceries, and the young mech — probably just got his alt mode, and the delivery job as a job beside studies, he looks so young — transforms to root more, looking through the gates up towards the house in what seems like awe.

"Stay in school, kid." Barricade mutters to the youngling, even if he knows that staying in school is only half of it to make — and keep — a good life for oneself.

He grabs two bags, just like the others do, and then they start up the driveway that seems unusually long when moving in root mode, weighed down by booze for their pimps.

_At least they bought some things mostly for themselves. _


	280. Chapter 280

They all help out unpacking, restocking the bar, and readying the tools needed to make whatever drinks might be required. Not that the brothers need more than cubes and chilled high grade of different sorts, but most if them enjoy getting something more fancy now and then. 

_As long as it isn't too weak and sweet._

Barricade rolls his optics, because it is a bit ridiculous to judge someone by what drinks they have. 

Hot Rod slips off to have his coveted nap, Bumblebee goes to do whatever Bumblebee does when off duty, and Barricade and Jazz are left alone.

"So..." Barricade trails off, not sure where to go with his conversation starter.

"Still wanna fuck?" Jazz says saucily.

_Is it even honest, or is it what Jazz thinks he wants to hear? Old habits die hard, after all..._

"Don't know. I don't even know if that's what I really wanted in the first place."

_It's true. He can't really tell, maybe he would've been satisfied to just stay in Jazz's berth to cuddle the rest of the day._

Jazz doesn't seem disappointed with the answer.

"Maybe we could jus' relax, n' chill out on my berth, half rechargin'? It'll be a long night, after all."

"Sounds good."

_It really does: some physical proximity, and some rest. It has been a long day, with so many impressions, and his processor feels ready for a defrag and a reboot to sort everything._

He follows Jazz down the hallway of the pleasurebot wing, already thinking of Jazz's comfortable berth, and the soft bedding lining it, all the pillows that could be arranged into a fluffy nest if he felt like it...

"Did ya ask Hide if ya're expandin' your repertoire tonight?"

"No. I think you were right: why would he wait with springing that knowledge until the last second?"

Jazz shrugs. "He may be tempted by havin' someone else himself, n' one of tha brothers may persuade him ta let ya start tryin' new mechs."

Barricade's tank turns, and he swallows again.

_Nitro Zeus will certainly try his best to get Ironhide to let him loose on Barricade._

"Well, if he does, then I'll have to deal with it then. Until then, I'm still exclusively Hide's."

He hears Jazz sighing, but his lover doesn't say anything else on the topic.


	281. Chapter 281

_It's ridiculous, and he knows it._

Hiding behind the bar — or rather behind the excuse of pouring drinks as a reason not to approach Hide — is both cowardly, and ultimately ineffectual, since the mech could just comm him.

_He really should get over there and be a saucy little minx to secure a place in Hide's berth tonight too, but he just can't bring himself to do it. _

And Ironhide is busy with mechs he really can't compete with — both Drift and Dreadbot are draped over him, and Crosshairs is within easy reach where he's straddling Nitro Zeus, who's sitting next to Ironhide, arms stretched out along the back of the couch, letting the pleasurebot work him as much or as little as he wants, but not reciprocating.

_Selfish fucking bastard. There's no way he's going over to Hide while Nitro Zeus is there, that might increase the risk..._

_Coward. Just get it over with, instead of dawdling around, letting all the others do all the real work._

As if on que, Hot Rod is escorted past the bar, towards the upper floor where the brothers' rooms are. Motormaster's servos are roaming his plating, and his plastered on smile has slipped now that his back is towards his customer.

_See? They may not like it more than you do, and _you_ are being a selfish bastard._

Barricade allows himself to be distracted from that unwelcome thought by staring at Jazz straddling Roadbuster. Jazz giggles at something Roadbuster says, wrapping his arms around the gang mech's neck, and Barricade feels a frisson of jealousy chill his spark.

_They don't really look like pleasurebot/customer. More like a casual hookup between friends. He can't really lay claims on Jazz but, oh, how he wishes he would be in Roadbuster's place, and Jazz didn't have to sleep with other mechs for a living._

He looks away, not keen on seeing more of Jazz behaving much like he does when he's with Barricade with someone else, and tries to dredge up the courage to go over to Ironhide, even if the gross bastard is there.

_He's too late._

Ironhide is already walking up the stairs, arms wrapped around Dreadbot and Drift, and Nitro Zeus is following him, Crosshairs slung over his shoulder in that uncivilized nomad tribesmech way that seems to be his trademark.

Not that Crosshairs seems to mind; he's quite busy fondling Nitro Zeus's aft.

_Well, look at that ship sailing. What are you going to do now? Or rather, who..._

Barricade watches as Bumblebee and Breakdown meets the others on the stairs, coming back from their tryst in Breakdown's room.

_Shut up! I'll hang out here, and wait for Ironhide to come back. I'll take the second round, Hide usually wants more than one frag on party nights, and it's better to take the later one, so I get to stay in his berth._

_Sure you will... And certainly, Dreadbot and Drift won't do everything to get to stay in the big boss's berth. Maybe Crosshairs too, if Nitro and Hide really enjoy sharing their little sluts. Will you still go with Hide if Nitro wants to join you?_

_..._

_Hide won't let him. He didn't the last time._

_Sure he won't..._

_Shut up!_


	282. Chapter 282

He's sipping a souped up cube of the premixed drink they bought, made stronger with a hefty pour of a palatable high grade, but he's definitely not anywhere near drunk enough when Blackout plunks into the couch opposite of where he's sitting, optics riveted to Barricade.

Barricade nervously flick his optics to the sides, scanning the room for who else is there, but Jazz and Roadbuster have retreated somewhere more private, Crosshairs and Dreadbot are still with Hide and Nitro Zeus. Knock Out is busy with Breakdown, and Hot Rod hasn't come back yet. 

_Not that he'd expect help/sympathy from Hot Rod, but still..._

Red optics sweep his frame, and he feels tiny, vulnerable and very naked when Blackout cocks his helm in consideration, face unreadable. Barricade squirms, and it makes the corners of Blackout's intake quirk slightly, which just makes him seem even more dangerous.

_Should he try to start a conversation, or what's he supposed to do?_

Blackout's intake pulls into a toothy grin, and Barricade realizes that he's still fidgeting nervously. He abruptly stops, and it makes Blackout's grin widen even more, and the Helo shakes his helm in amusement, clearly pleased with unsettling Barricade. He stretches an arm out on the back of the couch, and it makes it even more obvious how freakishly big he is, almost dwarfing the couch that Barricade himself feels like a youngling when he sits in, due to it being made for mechs the size of most of the brothers.

"So... _Barricade_," he says slowly, as if he's testing how the designation tastes on his glossa, "you seem to be settling in well."

Barricade swallows nervously, spark spinning so wildly, it feels like it's about to explode. He takes a deep drink from his cube to buy himself some time, processor blanking out on good answers, glossa sticking to the roof of his intake.

"I... uhm, I-I guess so?" He finally manages to stutter, voice sounding squeaky and ridiculous.

"Mhm." Blackout rumbles the wordless answer, optics still locked on Barricade.

He takes another swig of his drink to occupy himself, all four optics focusing on the bottom of the cube just to get away from the intense scrutiny when Blackout's optics sweep his frame again, deliberately slow. Blackout licks his lips, showing just a hint of the row of sharp denta.

"Then you should start putting out."


	283. Chapter 283

Barricade wants to purge, wants to just fall into recharge and wake up to find everything just being a nightmare, or perhaps just magically sink through the couch and disappear.

_But of course none of those things happen. _

He sits there, spark spinning out of control, clutching the drink that's nowhere near big enough, nor emptied enough, red optics locked on him without as much as a slight waver.

Barricade fidgets nervously again, which just brings another shark like grin to Blackout's face-plates.

"I-I... Ironhide hasn't said I have to?" He stutters, clinging desperately to the hope that he's still under Ironhide's protection.

_Protection?! It certainly didn't sound like that the first nights you stayed in his berth..._

"Hide is a very... _Charitable_ mech sometimes," Blackout says, and his deep, raspy voice is hard to gauge — is that approval or annoyance, the way he emphasizes _charitable_— when he once again lets his optics sweep Barricade's frame, "but that he hasn't said that you have to doesn't automatically mean that you're not _allowed_ to."

_Fuck!!_

_Probably as much as you want, and then some. By a Helo with a dick as big as... Well, it's fucking massive._

_Shut up, just shut the fuck up!! That's not what I meant!_

_Heh... _

_How the hell is he going to get out of this?! Of course he's allowed to go along with this, so he can't really deny Blackout without showing that he's unwilling, but at the same time, he doesn't want to do it until he's explicitly ordered to do it... Well, not even then, but that's the point of no choice, and it's so different from going along with it of his own accord._

He tries to comm Ironhide, but he just receives a busy tone.

_Fuck!_

"I-I... I'm not sure if I am allowed...?" He stutters to buy some time, frantically coming Ironhide, just to be taunted by that busy tone again. "I don't know if he wants me to stay exclusive, and I can't reach him..."

Blackout rumbles a laugh. "Yeah, because _exclusiveness_ is so Hide's thing."

_Filthy little liar, Hide has said that you're free to fuck whomever you want, has said that he's not much for hogging the goods for himself._

_I don't _want _to fuck Blackout._

_Do you have the ball bearings to tell _him_ that?_

"Don't bother trying to get ahold of him; Hide and Nitro just herded a flock of whores upstairs. They're probably pelvic plating deep in a slut each by now."


	284. Chapter 284

The last statement — while technically true — leaves a bitter taste in Barricade's intake.

_He may not always have had very charitable thoughts about pleasurebots, but he has changed. Blackout has to know that they're more than just _whores. _He lives under the same roof as them, and certainly isn't above making the most of their services, but he sees them every day, so he has to know them all pretty well..._

_Services he wants you to provide right now..._

_Shut up!!_

He has been quiet for far too long, not responding to Blackout's crass — but probably true — statement.

"Then I can't check with him what my deal states. We'll wait until I get ahold of him to verify."

An inpatient sneer flitters across Blackout's face-plates, but then it slowly morphs into a nasty grin again, and Barricade fidgets in discomfort he's hard pressed to hide. Blackout looks at something somewhere behind Barricade, and then he does a come hither motion with two of his digits.

"Since you won't spread your legs for me, then maybe you could help me out with getting some entertainment elsewhere as compensation? I do know for a fact that you have no problems fucking around with the other whores, and that Ironhide doesn't mind..."

Barricade's spark plummets, and he takes a deep swig of his drink, as if that will settle the roiling in his tank.

"Not to speak of that very interesting little show you put on with Crosshairs and Dreadbot the first party you attended here, when Hide fucked you after Crosshairs licked you."

Barricade feels himself flushing horribly.

_He had forgotten about that!_

Blackout smirks knowingly, and Barricade really wants to slap him right in his smug fucking face-plates. 

_Not that the bastard would feel much of it, probably. But it would still be so satisfying._

Blackout finally looks away from Barricade when Bumblebee steps up to the table, a pleasant smile on his face-plates that Barricade really can't say if it's genuine or not. He makes an inquiring gesture along with a wordless beep.

"On your servos and knees on the table, aft this way."

Bumblebee obediently climbs onto the table as instructed, his panels already open, just like most of the other pleasurebots, even if some of them wear those hot pants Barricade isn't as keen on these days as he was back when... _Yeah._ Barricade has his panels closed, even if he knows that it sets him apart from the others.

"I'm here, brother, what's the plan?" Springer asks as he plunks down on the end of the couch. 

Their sizes makes it seem crowded, even with just two mechs sitting there.

Blackout flashes a wide cyberwolf grin. "Something we promised ourselves to do, and should've done a long time ago."


	285. Chapter 285

Barricade glances nervously at Bumblebee, just to find that the smile has slipped form his face, and he looks... Neutral? 

_Maybe he's waiting to judge if this will be good or bad until he finds out what's going to be done? _

"We talked about it in the joint but never got around to it..." Blackout says._  
_

_I don't really see a way anything about this could be good..._

_Maybe they'll want you to finger him to get him ready, or something like that? Bumblebee is probably used to having an audience, and a fingering can be really good. Or maybe some oral. You didn't mind when Crosshairs licked you..._

Springer starts laughing, snapping Barricade out of his nervous musings.

"Come here, Barricade." Blackout says smoothly. "I need a little bit of help with this, surely you can assist me with taking care of this while we have a bit of fun?" He holds up a bottle of high grade Springer brought from the bar.

Barricade hesitantly gets up from the couch, getting closer to the bigger mechs. Bumblebee doesn't move from his pose. Blackout hands him the bottle, and Barricade understands why he needs an extra servo; it's a type of bottle made to be placed on a hinged stand for ease of pouring, with a rounded bottom that makes it impossible to put down without the stand. Barricade grabs it.

"Thank you." Blackout rumbles, but the way Springer grins makes Barricade wary.

"I'm glad I can be of some service." _Because an attempt at supplication can never be wrong._

"We'll hold you to that." Springer says, stifling a laugh.

"Now, here's the thing I really need help with; as you can see, I have a decent looking bottle stand in front of me. I'm not sure it's ready to hold a bottle, though, and that's where you come into this picture: it would be very nice of you to prep him for the bottle for me. I'd really like to watch that. I'm sure it'll make things much more comfortable for the little slut too, don't you think?

Barricade's intake moves, but no sound is coming out, because even his processor is gobsmacked. Blackout leans forward, pushing two digits into Bumblebee's port without preamble, and there's a minute tensing of the pleasurebot's frame as answer to the sudden intrusion.

"See? He can't even take my digits as is, if I tried sticking that bottle in there right now, that would probably not be all that comfortable. This is your chance to help us all out. I mean, we will both enjoy watching you prep his ass, and I bet the little slut would be really grateful for not having a bottle stuck up his ass without being stretched first, some lube, and whatnot."

_It's such a fucked up thing to consider _entertainment,_ and he really doesn't want to get in on it, but what choice does he have? If he says no to this too, then he will seem very uncooperative, and there's always the risk of other fucked up propositions. This way, he'll help Bumblebee avoid this being painful, even if it'll still be humiliating._

"What's it going to be, _ex-_cop?"

_Fucking asshole. It's not like he has much choice, though._

"You don't happen to have some lube?" He asks, because he certainly doesn't carry that around.


	286. Chapter 286

"I don't. Haven't the other whores taught you to always have some in your subspace? Could find yourself in very uncomfortable situations otherwise..." Blackout says, making it sound like Barricade is the most stupid mech on he planet.

Bumblebee makes a noise, and Barricade turns to look at him, finding a subspace pocket opening on the other mech's thigh. He reaches inside, which feels way more intimate than he's comfortable with, but on the other servo, he's about to finger Bumblebee's aft, so he really needs to get over it. Barricade feels around, finding what feels like a few balls on a string, something that feels like a package of condoms, a soft, flexible ring of some sort, a cone shaped thing with a flare at the thickest end, and then finally a bottle. He pulls the bottle out, and is relieved to find that it is lubricant.

"Pour a nice, big glob on his hole, and work it in with your digits." Springer says. "What? I have preferences..." He adds, shrugging when Blackout glances at him.

"Does sound like a decent show."

Barricade hands Blackout the bottle of high grade again, and then he does as Springer requested. The lubricant is thick and greasy, and dark blue, contrasting against the yellow of Bumblebee's protoform. Barricade smears it over the opening, feeling it clench under his digit. He pushes one digit inside, even if it feels incredibly wrong to do this with a mech he technically hasn't even spoken to, in front of others nonetheless. 

Bumblebee's port is tight and hot around his finger, and his spike asks for permission to pressurize, but sadly, this has nothing to do with pleasure. 

_At least not for him or Bumblebee._

"Yeah, listen to that sucking noise!" Springer cackles, mimicking the squelching sound that's the result when Barricade starts pumping his digit in and out to get Bumblebee to relax.

Barricade flushes on Bumblebee's behalf.

"Add another digit. We don't have all night. Since you're so parsimonious with sharing pleasure, we'll need to find it elsewhere when you're done with this, and I don't want to risk all the good whores being busy." Blackout almost growls in impatience, his field lashing with arousal.

_Ugh._

Still Barricade adds another digit as requested, because he's quite eager to get this over with as soon as possible, while still not causing Bumblebee unnecessary discomfort. He pumps, and twists, and scissors his digits, and it's apparent that Bumblebee is used to backdoor entry, because he's loosening up really fast. He adds another digit, even if he probably could add two. 

_Doing an entire broadside with his servo is more than he can bring himself to do, it feels too degrading and perverted, even if the bottle is as wide in diameter as his servo is._

_You know, your new mod would make this easy for you..._

Barricade flushes furiously when imagining himself in Bumblebee's position, aft swallowing an entire bottle, while the two disgusting bastards stare with bright optics...

_At least he evaded that. And it'll be easier for Bumblebee with his help..._

He adds the last digit and pushes his servo inside until his thumb stops further advances.


	287. Chapter 287

"Good enough. Now get the bottle in there. I need a fucking drink." Blackout says, handing Barricade the rather massive bottle.

"And I need both a drink, _and_ some fucking." Springer states.

Barricade's spark does a nervous flip, because he can't be certain that they won't force the issue.

_Or get ahold of Hide and actually get permission..._

Barricade stares at the bottle, letting his servo slip out of Bumblebee's port. The opening is slack and soft, but the bottle is big...

"Ehm... How do I... I mean, this thing is so big. How do I get it, eh, how do I get it in there?"

Springer starts laughing. "Just ram it home and say _ˋpop goes the weasel!'_ or whatever. It's not _that_ massive."

_Says the mech who's not getting it shoved into their afts._

"Do it like I fuck: slide it in and keep going until it's all in. The squirming and whining usually stops once I'm hilted, and I'm bigger than that." Blackout tells him. "And that little bitch can take it, rest assured. I've done my... _research._" The last part is a leer.

Barricade manages to refrain from making a nasty face — it would probably just amuse the bastards anyway — but he stares at the bottle for a few more seconds, trying to come up with the nicest course of action.

_Lube is probably a good idea._

He squeezes more onto Bumblebee's port, and then he presses the rounded bottom of the bottle against the opening. The way Bumblebee adjusts his position slightly, it's obvious that he's trying to relax and ready himself for the intrusion. Barricade takes a steeling vent, pity gnawing at him, but then he pushes.

The rounded bottom goes in — not without resistance — and he can see the way Bumblebee's digits are clawing against the surface of the table in obvious discomfort.

_If only he'd gotten some more time to prep him._

The yellow and black Racer's vents are quick and shallow as Barricade pushes the bottle deeper and deeper, and Barricade wants to stop, but he doesn't dare.

_The stretch won't feel better anyway, even if it may be good to get a respite. But then he doesn't know what the bastards may do to speed things up. It could probably get even more unpleasant for all involved._

He really doesn't want to admit that there's something intriguing, and just a little exciting — in a very obscene way — with the way Bumblebee's port is stretched around the bottle, the way it's slowly disappearing into his frame.

Then suddenly the bottle is past his calipers and is sucked in the last bit, leaving just the neck poking out through the loose rim. The audience cackles and claps, and Blackout immediately opens the tap on the bottle to pour himself a cube.

Springer pops his panel, allowing his spike to pressurize, completely unashamed, and Barricade just stands there, feeling redundant, and wildly out of place.

_And shamefully aroused. Not very much, but enough for it to feel very wrong._

Springer has walked around the table, holding his spike out for Bumblebee, and the Camaro sucks it deeply into his intake without further prompting.

"This is so much more fun than I ever imagined." Springer grunts.

Blackout turns to Barricade. "So, you want to get some now that you got some foreplay?"

Barricade shakes his helm with tiny movements, not wanting to annoy the mech, but very much not up for having an orgy.

_Though saying 'no' didn't really serve him well the last time, did it?_

"Then skedaddle."


	288. Chapter 288

Barricade wakes up when he's pulled off the couch he's recharging on. His helm is pounding, and maybe he'd notice how his neck-struts are all kinked and painful from the position he has recharged in, if it wasn't for the way his hip hits the floor, or the screaming his still muzzy processor can make sense of. The sunlight is harsh against his optics, shining in through a window where the heavy curtains are not pulled shut, and it takes him long moments of taking slap after slap to his face-plates before he can make sense of anything.

"...self-centered fucking _bitch_!" He catches the tail end of what Drift screams, obviously in a towering rage.

At first, he doesn't have the wherewithal to do anything but cover his helm as best as he can.

"You're just too good to do what we do, are you?"

"I...what?!"

"You're too good to put out, and have a bit of fun, so you force others to do the dirty work for you! I don't know why anyone thought you'd be better than you were before, you're still just an _abuser!"_

Barricade finally rolls away, momentarily getting his face-plates out of reach. The fragged off Racer keeps hitting wherever he can reach, though.

"Glitch-fight!" Someone yells.

"You were too good to let Blackout fuck you, sitting on your high zap ponies, thinking only the _whores_ should do that kind of work, and so Bee had to suffer through _that!_ You even have the mods to take that better than he did, but _no_, not _Barricade!_ He's too good to even get some spike, but he has no problem fist fucking a whore, is that it?"

"Ten credits on the pissy ex-junkie." Nitro Zeus says to someone.

"That's not it at all, I didn't mean for Bumblebee to need to do anything in my stead." Barricade yells.

"You're on! I think cop-mech has some tricks up his subspace." It sounds like Roadbuster.

"And you couldn't figure that out yourself?! And worse, you didn't protest helping out, and didn't even make it that much easier and better!" Drift snarls.

"I think he sticks his tricks somewhere else..." Nitro Zeus leers, making Roadbuster laugh.

Barricade has finally managed to get his bearings enough to make a move; he sweeps around, taking Drift's pedes out from under him. Drift tumbles to the floor, and Barricade scrambles to get on top of him.

Roadbuster whoops victoriously, and Nitro Zeus exclaims his displeasure.

"They said they'd do it without any prep, and they were rushing me..." He says, finally straddling Drift, trying and failing to grab the Racer's flailing arms.

"It's not done yet!" Nitro says excitedly to Roadbuster.

"Sure, blame the _brothers!_ If you had been a little more interested in learning the way things work around here, you would've known that they don't _damage_ us!"

Drift manages to land a slap that makes Barricade's already pounding helm feels like it just hit a wall.

"Hah!" Nitro Zeus cackles.

"Frag _you!_ I didn't damage him! They rushed me when I prepped him and..." Barricade hisses, getting fed up with the erratic mech.

_Who would've ever thought that he would long for curling up in the fluffy bedding in Ironhide's berth and snooze the day away?_

"It was unnecessarily uncomfortable for Bee. You could've put on a better show, could've made it worth their time! But, noo, you can't even open your fragging panel, you prude...

Fuck his helmache, fuck fighting fairly, Barricade headbutts Drift right in the face just to shut him up. There's a horrible crunch, Drift cries out in pain, and Barricade's helm explodes. He slumps on top of the dazed whore, feeling like he's going to offline, but he regrets nothing. Roadbuster cheers, and it does nothing to help Barricade's helmache, then Nitro Zeus grumbles when he pays the winner of the stupid bet.

"Thats _enough!"_ Ironhide's voice booms, and suddenly Barricade is airborn.

He's more or less flung onto the couch, the impact making his head throb, and Drift is dragged from the floor rather unceremoniously, and placed on his pedes.

"You better fucking sort this out yourselves, and get your scrap together, or I'll punt you _both_ over the wall! Crosshairs!"

"Yes, Hide?" Crosshairs says, sounding tense and serious in an uncharacteristic way.

"Make sure Drift gets to a medic, and get everyone's helms straight before tonight."

"Yes, Hide."

"I lost a bet _again,_ Prez." Nitro says mournfully.

"That's because you're an idiot. Come on, we have work to do."


	289. Chapter 289

Rather unsurprisingly, Bumblebee and Hot Rod helps Drift away from the scene, supposedly taking him to a medic. Barricade remains slumped on the couch where he was more or less thrown, offlining his optics to get away from the sunlight as much as reality.

"So, I don' really 'ave yer story, jus' what I've 'eard from others..." Crosshairs says in a low voice — perfectly modulated to not be jarring to a hungover mech —as he plunks down next to Barricade.

"You mean the way I was sleeping off my hangover on the couch when he dumped me on the floor and started slapping me?"

"No, tha' part is quite clear. I was thinkin' 'bout las' night...?"

"Blackout came on to me. Hide hasn't told me to sleep with others, and I said as much. Then he called Bee over, and told me to do the thing with the bottle, or he'd make it himself in a much worse way, basically."

"Mhm."

"How was I supposed to know if he meant it or not? I tried to make it easier on Bumblebee with the time limit I had, and I really hoped that it would be enough."

"I see why ye went te prison, because ye sure 'aven't go' the street smarts... Did B.O. explicitly say that 'e would do i'?"

Barricade tries to get his processor to focus, but the memories are fuzzy with stress and high grade, and he's distracted by the slow throbbing of his helm that's slowly killing him.

"I... I don't know. I don't think he said it outright. More like 'it would be uncomfortable if he did it without' and stuff?"

"Ok, pay attention, because ye really need the advice I'm goin' te give ye: If they say stuff in a 'ypothetical way, they're usually tryin' te manipulate ye. Some of 'em are more clever with i' than others, but try no' te let 'em play ye. Fer yer own sake. But ye really should've jus' fucked B.O in the first place. 'is spike is big, an' it would've spared ye from all the drama."

_It's so easy to say for someone who likes doing it with anyone and everyone. He's not like that, he doesn't crave spike, even if he likes when Jazz spikes him, and finds pleasure when doing it with Ironhide. That doesn't make him the type who spreads his legs for anyone._

_Unlike Hot Rod, who likes it so very much..._

_Go back to your hangover corner! He won't do what Hot Rod does until he absolutely has to, and all other options are gone._

"I just didn't feel ready. He's huge, and I've still not had much good valve interfacing..." He says, hoping his insecure act is coming through right in spite of his hangover.

"Can' say I understand, but I guess tha's a valid point, an' I think it's a fairly reasonable excuse. Ye really should consider tryin a few more of the brothers, though. Before ye're appointed te someone else than Hide. It's easier when ye get te choose. Like I chose Hide back in prison, but the others were mandatory, an' it took a li'l more te ge' myself te do 'em in the beginning."

Barricade is relieved, because it does seem like he's off the hook of blame for both Bumblebee's bad experience, and the altercation where he damaged one of the in-house crew.

_Even if he isn't going to take the advice on fragging around with the brothers._

"Thank you. I really will try to get over my nervousness and my hang-ups."

_Nope, he's going to try even harder to find a different job._


	290. Chapter 290

"I'm so sorry, Bumblebee, I really hope you weren't damaged. I honestly thought there was no other way, and I really believed that they were going to just 'ram it home' without prep. I could've done much better, but I really thought I was doing my best, considering the seemingly rushed time schedule."

Bumblebee looks at him for long moments, but Barricade doesn't fidget.

_It's the truth. He really thought he was doing the best thing he could for Bumblebee._

::Apology accepted. I wasn't damaged, just a bit sore. They were running a hard game at playing you, I can see why you fell for it.:: Bumblebee's comm voice is completely normal, much to his surprise.

_But then, why wouldn't it be?_

::I'm sorry for what Drift did to you. It was not my intention when I talked to him about it.:: Bumblebee's voice is rather melodic in a very pleasant way.

"I guess we can't control what others do for us, or what they trick us into doing, right?" Barricade says.

::I guess...::

It's all they need to say to get it over with, even if Barricade has no real grasp on if Bumblebee was sincere or not, and if the mech has truly forgiven him.

_Fucking Blackout, it's all his fault, but he will probably never be held accountable._

The next mech to face to make sure their 'scrap is together' is Drift, and Barricade really doesn't feel inclined to forgive him easily, just as he's pretty sure Drift won't just forget this.

"I don't want to fight, and I didn't intend for it to go the way it did. We'll both be worse off if we can't keep a truce. I'm good if you are."

_He can keep from landing the first punch, but he certainly hasn't forgiven Drift, and he will not lay down and take it if the Racer wants another go._

"I still think you're an egocentric aft, but I do know that some mechs are too naive to handle a bit of manipulation. I won't cause trouble if you don't."

_It's half a threat, half an insult, and not really an apology, but he's fine with that. He can't be friends with everyone, and what Bumblebee thinks is the most important thing, because Bumblebee is the one who was impacted by the debacle in the first place. Drift didn't really have anything to do with it._

"Whatever. Let's be on our 'merry' way then..."

"Yeah, let's!"

_Bitch!_

He turns and walks away, grinding his denta in annoyance with the Racer, and with guilt for what Bumblebee had to go through at his servos. Barricade picks up the garbage bag he was toting when Drift and the others came back from Ratchet, helping out with clean up after the party. He's still hungover, and just wants to go back to sleep, but this is the least he can do.

_And he can't really afford to make the others more annoyed with him right now, it's bad enough to wonder if the way the hookers are glancing at him is good or bad, if they all want to do what Drift did. Even if it wasn't his fault._


	291. Chapter 291

"What in tha Pit happened last night? I've jus' heard half of it..." 

Barricade jumps in surprise and swivels around, startled, because he didn't hear Jazz come up to him, and he stares at his lover for a few seconds, processing his words.

_It's kind of nice to know that the gossip dosn't travel to every single mech instantaneously._

"I don't really want to talk about it, but basically, Blackout tricked me into sticking a bottle into Bumblebee's aft. I fell for what he was saying about it being nicer if I prepped Bumblebee, instead of him and Springer just pushing it in, and then I unintentionally made Bumblebee's night miserable because of it by not giving a good enough show and buying time for him to adjust." He says quietly.

"Oh. I think ya did great with tha apology, though. How was Drift involved? N' what happened ta his nasal ridge? Looks like it's newly repaired..."

"He decided to get even on Bumblebee's behalf, so I kind of head-butted him..." 

Jazz stares blankly at Barricade for long seconds, then he starts laughing. "What?!"

"He jumped me when I was recharging on the couch, and started hitting me, so I defended myself rather offensively..." Barricade hisses, not wanting the others to hear that Jazz finds this hilarious, both for his own sake, and for Jazz's.

"Tha's what I get for sleepin' in: I miss all tha action!"

"Yeah, well, Hide wasn't very impressed with it, he threatened to kick us out if we can't behave ourselves, and I don't know what the others think about me getting Bumblebee into that game." Barricade mutters, nervous about what Jazz will think, but knowing that it's better that he tells Jazz about it himself.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Blackout said that I should start putting out, and wanted to frag me. I kind of freaked out, and said that I had to wait for approval from Hide, that I didn't know if I was allowed to sleep with others."

Jazz frowns, and Barricade's spark constricts in a strange way when he sees the way Jazz's intake pulls into a thin line.

"I was just trying to stall it, but then he came up with this stupid game, and Bumblebee got pulled into it, and drew the shortest straw."

Jazz looks annoyed. "Ya really would make it easier for everyone if ya got 'round ta try someone else. Jus' pick one who's easy on tha optics, n' get it over with already."

_Of course he was prepared for Jazz not fully being on his side, but it still stings a bit._

"I'll think about it. So how was your night?" He decides to change the subject.

"It was nice. Roadbuster knows how ta use his equipment, n' he really is decent at dirty talkin'. Doesn't drool when he falls into recharge on your shoulder either."

_As stupid as it sounds, it was definitely a better night than he had._


	292. Chapter 292

"I do have an opening..." The manager says, looking him up and down skeptically with beady optics.

Barricade's spark makes a funny flip, because he was so certain that he was walking into yet another turn down.

"You do?!"

"Yeah. I need someone to handle the dishes. There's a lot of those when making gels..." The manager looks him up and down again. "You sure you could do it? You don't look like a maintenance type of bot to me... What's your alt mode?"

_It feels like his spark is crawling up his throat, but Barricade hasn't been this hopeful since... well, since he opened the data package from the academy to see if he'd been rejected or not._

"I'm a car, but I swear I can do some dishes! I'll work hard, clean them by servo..."

"You've done it before?"

"Not professionally, but I did my own dishes when I..." He falters, because he doesn't know how to say that he did them before going to prison. "I did them, and I know how to do it, and I really need a job, any job," but he's obligated by law to say it, so he takes a deep vent to continue, "I was convicted, and went to prison, and without a job, I can't get back on track to being a stand up citizen again. I'll do what it takes to work my way up, and I'm not afraid to get my servos grubby, if that's what it takes! I want to do right."

The manager looks him over again with those critical optics that gives Barricade worse heebiejeebies than even Nitro Zeus's leering does.

"Someone with a dishwasher alt would be much more effective, so I can't give you the same pay as one of them... You'll get 5 credits an hour, and I need you for four hours a day on the weekdays. Trial time is two weeks, then we renegotiate wage and weekly hours. _If _you make the cut."

"Absolutely, Sir! Thank you so much for this opportunity!"

"Yeah, yeah, just be here at 6:45 in the morning on Thursday, then we'll go from there."

Barricade hurries out of the shop, thrilled to a point where his spark is speeding, and he wants to dance around like an idiot.

_Sure, the wage is low, and he would've been grateful for more hours, but it's a start, and with hard work, he may get more hours. And having a job is such an advantage when applying for a new one, should this one turn out to be bad, and hopefully, he'll get a reference out of it, if nothing else._

He folds into his alt mode, turning to drive back to the house early for one of his job searching trips.

_He finally got one! He's not going to spend the afternoon searching for another one, not considering his nonexistent luck so far. No, he's going to enjoy the afternoon to the max, knowing that he has found the entrance to a path out of his current situation. He's going to make calculations, look at housing alternatives, and scour the data net for affordable necessities, and then he's going to plan his future. Until he has to return to Hide's berth, but that's easy to handle now, it's just temporary. He's got a job now._


	293. Chapter 293

_It's a very tight budget._

Four hundred credits a month certainly isn't much. Seventy five of those credits will go to taxes immediately. Barricade is looking at the renting market, and it's a let down. Even the tiniest apartment will cost him at least two hundred, and those apartments are so small, he could barely fit both a berth and a chair. And after fueling himself, there's hardly any credits left, even if he buys the cheapest low grade fuel there is. Even getting the credits to buy himself a berth, and an energon dispenser will take months and months to save up, and that's if he does nothing frivolous at all, and if nothing unexpected happens.

He still peeks at the data net site of the cheapest bargain furniture warehouse, because daydreaming a bit is an indulgence that is free.

_Even the cheapest berth is a hundred and twenty credits, and it doesn't even look that comfortable, with the thin mattress._

_Certainly not as comfortable as Ironhide's berth..._

_Oh, shut up._

He looks at bedding, and there's gaudy prints, and optic damaging colors in abundance, but what really has him browsing to a different site is the quality.

_Rough tarps, and materials he knows are going to rustle and chafe._

_Not everyone can afford the luxury to get the highest end imported fabrics, even if your pimp can..._

_Whatever._

Barricade stares longingly at the finer bedding, knowing that buying those are far off in the future, before he shuts the browser and stretches out on Ironhide's berth.

_He could stay here while doing his trial period at his new job, maybe even a bit longer. Save up the credits he makes, and work his aft off. Hopefully he'll get a bit of a raise, and a few more hours a week once the trial is over. If he can find a cheap apartment then, maybe he'll have enough money to buy a berth straight away, at least. If the deposit doesn't eat up all of his savings. _

_So _now_ you'll stay here willingly, even if you could technically leave?!_

_It's just temporary, to set himself up for a better start._

_You do realize that you'll have to sleep with Hide as long as you stay here?_

_Just a few more weeks. And he makes it good for me, so I can live with that to get a little extra credits as a buffer._

_Prostitute..._

He ignores that, because it's no different than what he has been doing lately, only now it's a means to an end, a way to finally get out of here, and start a real life.

_But he can't take Jazz with him, he won't be able to afford fuel for them both. And he can't tell Jazz that he'll have to keep ho... _working_, because they'll still be in Hide's territory, and Hide probably won't like Jazz doing his own thing like that._

_Maybe Jazz can still work for Hide, but move out with you? You could split the cost for rent. Jazz will probably make more credits like that, when he doesn't need to pay rent to Hide. Not that you know what Jazz makes right now..._

_He can't tell Jazz that he'll have to keep working for Hide!_

_Why not? It's what he has been doing his entire life..._

_He just can't be that much of an asshole, he'll be no better than Hide if he asks Jazz to sell his frame to pay for rent. Even if it certainly would make it easier to make ends meet with two incomes, and Jazz has furniture and stuff... But no. He can't do that. He'll invite Jazz to move in with him when he makes more money himself._


	294. Chapter 294

"I'll get up early tomorrow. I...ah, I've gotten a job." Barricade finally says, spark spinning in his chest.

"Hm?" Ironhide grunts, almost in recharge already.

Barricade shifts nervously, and it makes another glob of transfluid dribble out of his valve, as if to underscore what will be different soon.

"I've gotten a day job. It's not much, just a few hours a day, but it's something, I guess." For some reason, it feels almost shamefully inadequate when telling Hide, even if he was so proud of it. "Well within the territory." 

_Which may actually work in his advantage now that he's talking to his _landlord _about it, even if it'll probably make him a resident in this territory once he moves out of Hide's House of Horrors._

_It wasn't horror that made you squeal half an hour ago..._

_Shut up._

"I start working at seven tomorrow morning."

Ironhide onlines one optic, and quirks an optical ridge. One corner of his intake quirks up, as if amused.

"Good luck with that."

His tone of voice isn't sarcastic, or implying that he truly disapproves, but it sounds as if he doesn't believe that Barricade will be able to handle it, and that he's just amused by the thought of Barricade trying. Barricade's temper flares, because who is the bastard to think that he knows what Barricade can and can't do?!

Barricade still tamps down on his irritation, because he will gain nothing from confronting Ironhide about that. Hide isn't annoyed that he has gotten a job, and that's probably the best he could hope for right now.

"Thank you." He says, pretending that the amusement flew right by him.

Ironhide turns over on his front, grabbing one of the big, fluffy pillows, and buries his face in it, stretching and wriggling a bit before settling in.

"I guess we should go to recharge, then. Getting up early is tough on too little recharge." He mutters, as his frame goes lax.

Barricade can't really tell if it's another barb or not. He has been prone to sleep in ever since he got out of prison, after all.

_But that's just because he hasn't had a reason to get up. Sure, he has been hunting for a job, but it's not like getting to the places where he has asked for one early would've helped with that. It would just have left him with more time to just sit around and wait for Hide to claim the night's rent._

_Sure, and it has nothing to do with how comfortable this berth is, and your reluctance to get out of it because of the fluffiness of the pillows..._

_I had no problems getting up in the mornings when I was an Enforcer..._

_But then you didn't spend half the nights being fucked into the berth..._

_Shut up. A bit of hot energon, and I'll be up and running just fine!_

Next to him, Ironhide's vents have evened out, and the big mech is already in recharge.

Barricade turns over on his side, offlining his optics, but it takes a while for recharge to claim him, nervous excitement keeping him awake. 

_He has a job, and he starts tomorrow!_


	295. Chapter 295

_It's really hard work._

Normally, he'd sleep most of the time he now spends at work, and then he'd hang out with Jazz. He still hangs out with Jazz, of course, he wouldn't stop with that, but more than once, he catches himself nodding off into recharge while they cuddle, and the times they interface, falling into recharge afterwards is a certain. When Jazz has to get ready for work, Barricade moseys off to Hide's room, trying to catch some more recharge before Ironhide decides to come back.

_It's exhausting._

Hide does keep him up at night — not more than usual, it isn't a bastardly scheme or anything, even Barricade can admit that —and it's much harder to keep up now that Barricade has to get up early, missing his normal recharge hours. And the hours he gets between being with Jazz and Hide's arrival each night aren't really enough, but he'll be damned if he has to pass on spending time with Jazz just to recharge.

On top of that, the work is hard in itself. Barricade never thought doing dishes would be so taxing, but he has to try to measure up with a mech with a dishwasher alt mode, so he really needs to work quickly and efficiently. His spark is spinning quickly the entire shifts, not because it's really heavy work, but his frame is interpreting it as a need for more power to increase speed, so it heightens his power output, and that really adds onto the strain. He'd probably be fine if he could get longer consecutive recharge, but that's impossible at the moment.

His servos flitter over the trays and moulds, scrubbing the sticky residue out of them as quickly as he can, the finer motoric hydraulics and motors in his lower arms close to overheating as he scrubs with the little brush. Barricade's arms are always so sore these days, even fingering Jazz makes his hydraulics hurt with a dull ache, and all he wants to do is rest his frame.

_It's just temporary. He just has to go through this, and show that he's good at this, get a bit of a raise, and then he'll be out of Hide's place, and get himself an apartment. It'll be worth it in the end, with his own berth, and he'll get to recharge all night..._

_Because Jazz won't be there to keep him up, he'll still be working._

_One thing at a time. An apartment, and then working his way up a bit, so he can afford to invite Jazz to live with him. He has to start somewhere._

"Are the moulds ready yet, Barricade?" The manager asks, his voice sharp.

"Almost, Sir. They were more sticky than usual this time, Sir. New recipe?" He say, suddenly nervous that the mech thinks he's working too slowly.

They were not stickier than usual. It's just that the moulds are hard to clean, and after almost a week of intense work, he's had the bad luck to get a bunch of them to scrub, unlike the trays he usually has cleaned so far. Barricade's arms are so sore, they're almost seizing up.

_He really needs to get some rest, and perhaps get his joints greased up to make them move smoother. But soon, it's weekend, and he's really going to take full advantage of it, and rest as much as possible._

"Same recipe as always." The manager says, sounding unimpressed, and Barricade is suddenly nervous that he unintentionally insulted the products, and the manager's skills.

His distal hydraulic pump whines in protest when he forces himself to work even faster to make up for it if he did.


	296. Chapter 296

Barricade steps out of the gelery, taking a deep vent in relief.

_Finally friday!_

He's just about ready to go back home, cuddle up with Jazz — or even fall into Hide's fluffy berth — and recharge until monday. 

_Sure, a good massage, and a greasing of his joints would feel so good, but consecutive recharge would go a long way to hit the spot, along with some good quality fuel, and some supplements. But mostly, he just wants to recharge._

But that won't happen — the recharging until monday part — even if Saturdays and Sundays are rather slow in the house. The weekend means more customers in the streets, so the pleasurebots — and whomever is on pimp-duty for the night — have their busiest nights on Fridays and Saturdays, and in-house parties are reserved for other nights, when business usually is slower.

But Ironhide wants payment of the rent night by night, and Jazz will be working, so Barricade will have to make do with looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow. 

_Jazz usually wants to sleep in on Saturdays, though, so he isn't really missing out on spending time together, even if he's out until noon._

For the first time, Barricade truly understands why Jazz is so lazy in the mornings, and how him not interrupting his lover's recharge will be a gift, and not a sign of disinterest.

He transforms and drives straight back to the house, and he makes a beeline for the washracks. Nitro is sitting on the couch in the rec room, smoking a laced cyg, but he hardly seems to notice Barricade, stoned as he is. His optic is dim, almost completely dark, and even if it tracks Barricade's movements across the room — his helm lolling lazily against the backrest as he does so — the bastard doesn't say anything, and it's impossible to tell if the quirk of his mandibles is a smirk or not.

Barricade steps into the washracks in the pleasurebot wing, not keen on going to Ironhide's quarters to wash up before he's off to see if Jazz is awake. The water is warm, and it helps soothing his aching frame, bringing his spirits up even more.

_It's weekend, and he has done more than half of his trial! Just three more days to go, then he'll get to renegotiate his hours and pay. The manager is hard to read at best, but the mech doesn't seem dissatisfied with his efforts so far, so hopefully, he'll be able to make a better deal. And if he doesn't he can survive on the credits he gets, he has calculated it over and over. He just has to be very aware of every credit he spends._

He scrubs the smell and dust of energon dust from his frame, taking the solvent in the biggest bottle on the shelf, hoping it's for everyone to use. He looks at the bottle, apparently a supermarket budget brand, and he sniffs the open bottle. It doesn't smell bad, and he files away a picture of the bottle for when it's time to go shopping.

_He can probably save money by buying generic solvent like this when he moves out, even if the scent can be hit or miss. He'll just need to find the good ones._


	297. Chapter 297

Barricade knocks quietly on Jazz's door. It's not that he doesn't want Jazz to hear him, but if Jazz is still in recharge, Barricade really doesn't want to disturb him. His lover needs his rest, and Barricade can always come back a little later. He's holding two large cubes of low grade energon, because he doesn't feel like getting buzzed right now, but he really need some energy. Jazz may feel like getting drunk already — he doesn't care much for the stigma that states at what times it's appropriate to drink, and when not to — but it'll probably bee good for him to stay sober for a few hours too.

The door slides open for him, and he steps inside. Jazz is stretched out on the berth, and Barricade sets the cubes on the nightstand.

"Brought some breakfast." He says, looking down at his lover, but then he frowns. "What happened to your face-plates?!"

Jazz's servo comes up to gingerly touch his right cheek, the plating dented and scratched.

"Nasty customer who didn' wanna stick ta tha deal we struck." He says.

"What?! How..." He trails off, still fighting to comprehend the reality. "Can you report it or something?"

_It's a stupid question, because he _knows_ that Jazz can't file charges, can't do anything. He's a prostitute, and it'll be word against word about the abuse, and there's a very real risk that Jazz's character will be questioned because of his previous convictions, and the customer will have the upper hand since Jazz is selling his frame._

"No I can't." Jazz says, looking at Barricade as if he's stupid. Which his question really suggests. "Don' worry, it's been handled. He just slapped me once, wasn't even that hard."

"Yeah, but he should pay for what he did! I mean, what's the justice.."

Jazz snorts. "I said that it has been handled. Ya think he walked outta there looking better than I look right now? With Nitro n' Motormaster handlin' tha security? That glitch won' hurt a scraplet in tha foreseeable future..." Jazz says, and his field is thick with smug satisfaction.

_He didn't even consider the option that someone would deal swift justice for hurting one of the whores._

"As long as you're happy with it..."

_It's not like the law would protect Jazz from something like this. Primus knows he did nothing but take advantage when he _was _the law..._

"I feel like justice have been served."

"Well, if I'd known, I would've brought some med grade too."

Jazz sniffs the cube. "This is just low grade!" He says, sounding disappointed.

"Yeah. If I have anything stronger, I'll be in deep recharge in a matter of minutes, and I really want to spend the afternoon with you being awake... I thought your fuel filter could probably do well with something milder too."

"Are ya sayin' I drink too much high grade?"

"No, just that we both work hard, and should take care of our frames." Barricade evades the very valid question.

_He does think that Jazz might be drinking too much, but right now, he's just too fragging tired to take that discussion._

"Well, ya work hard, at least..."

"Do you want me to fetch you some supplements?" Barricade says, carefully sliding his fingers over the injury on Jazz's face.

"Nah, I'm good. Jus' get on tha berth with me, n' cuddle. Ya look too worn ta go back ta tha bar jus' for some supplements for li'l ol' me." Jazz says, tugging at Barricade's wrist, a smile stretching his intake.

_He's not going to argue against any of those points._


	298. Chapter 298

Barricade tightens his grip on Ironhide's spike, slipping his servos along the thick, hard shaft, but suddenly, his servos let go without warning, his fingers seizing up, unable to grab on again.

Ironhide onlines his optics with a grunt, starting to say something, but immediately stops when he sees Barricade's bright-opticed stare, and his slowly moving digits.

"I-I'm sorry, Hide, I didn't m-mean to... My servos just... I can't close them!" Barricade stutters with rising panic, trying to understand what's going on when his digits doesn't obey him.

Ironhide grabs one of his hovering servos, bending the digits to close it for Barricade.

Something feels utterly wrong in the hydraulic cylinders in his lower arm, a strange, creeping sensation that tickles in a way that makes Barricade queasy with unexplainable disgust.

"Aah! Please don't do that... doesn't hurt, but..." He trails off swallowing repeatedly to stop another gag from forcing it's way up his intake.

"Cylinder creeps?" Ironhide asks, looking Barricade's arms over as he flexes and stretches the Mustang's digits one by one.

"I guess... My servos feel weak, and when you do those movements of my servos, it feels really weird in all of my hydraulics."

Ironhide lets go of Barricade's arm again, and the Mustang tries to move his digits, finding that he can move them, but very slowly, and when he stops trying, they still move of their own accord, only even slower.

"Looks like internal leakage. Could be that you've shot a few seals in your cylinders."

Barricade makes a noise of distress.

_How is he going to work when his servos are fragged up?!_

He stares at his servos, stifling a sob.

"I'll be fine with a blowjob." Ironhide says, shrugging.

_Did he say it out loud? It was not_ that _kind of work he meant, though_.

"But what will I do with my arms?!" Barricade says, still on the verge of sobbing, and just not in a helm space to argue what he considers work.

"When you're done here, you'll go to Ratchet. I've already commed him, he'll open the clinic for you, take a look, and if he doesn't have replacements in stock, you'll get them tomorrow, and he'll fix you up before tomorrow evening."

_It sounds so very good, there's just one issue: it's Friday night, and tomorrow is Saturday. Everything is closed until Monday. Not to speak of how his meager earnings will be gone once he pays for everything._

"I-I can't afford that. The on-call hour fee, and no parts shops will be open tommorow..." He whispers.

_He'll have to wait until Monday, and then it'll be too late, and he won't get the job._

"You don't need to pay Ratchet for this, I told him to do it as part of our agreement. And if he doesn't have the parts, comm me a list of what's needed, and it will be sorted until tomorrow. Anything else?"

"I... ah... Not that I can think of right now, no."

_It feels like he'll be indebted to Ironhide for this, but it's the best option. He can make up for it by being extra pliant in berth, and in a week, he'll be out of here._

"Then let's finish this so you can be off to Ratchet, now that he's waiting for you." Ironhide says, pointing at his half pressurized spike.

_Arrogant bastard._

Still he obediently bends forward, and sucks the thick spike into his intake.


	299. Chapter 299

"So, what's your malfunction?" Ratchet asks without preamble as soon as Barricade steps through the door.

The medic seems cranky, and probably for good reason. Working late at Friday night, and from what Barricade understands, not getting a single credit for it, would put anyone in a bad mood. He'd like to give the medic a tip, but he just can't afford it.

"My servos seized up momentarily, and it seems like I have cylinder creep?" He says, holding his servos out to show the mech how his fingers move of their own accord while they walk into the examination room.

"Primus on a pike, what did he have you do for _this_ to happen?!"

"I... uhm... I was giving him a hand job. I've been working extra washing dishes in a gelery too, though. I really hope to get an employment so I can get my own apartment..." Barricade trails off.

Ratchet frowns. "Mhm. Let's take a look then." He says, voice a bit softer.

Barricade lays down on the berth, and Ratchet plugs a scanner into Barricade's systems. While it goes through his systems, Ratchet starts to remove plating to get access to the deeper components in Barricade's arms.

"So, doing dishes... How long have you been doing this?"

"Since last Thursday. It was fine the first days, but my hydraulics really started to feel strained as this week wore on."

Ratchet doesn't answer, focusing on the components in Barricade's arm.

"I'll check my stock, but I don't think I have all the seals. You should get ceramic coated ones anyway, they'll last longer, and won't wear the pistons as badly when you strain yourself like that. I only have a few of those" Ratchet says, disappearing into an adjacent room.

"Are those expensive?" He asks, spark feeling cold.

"Pricier than the standard ones, but Hide can afford it, and we don't need to tell him that I'm upgrading you. That's the least he can do, the bastard. I'd also suggest upgrading all the electrical motors to more powerful ones. One in each arm is burnt out, but the other ones are not in a good condition. It's just a matter of time before they give out too."

Barricade's spark sinks, because even if Ratchet doesn't tell Hide exactly what was needed, and what are upgrades, Ironhide will see the bill, and Barricade will feel like he owes the Topkick.

_But he needs this if he's going to keep working. Especially if his stock equipment hardly holds up for two weeks. He will not be able to afford repairs like this twice a month when he's on his own._

"So how long will the upgraded parts hold up?"

Ratchet shrugs. "Two months, perhaps? Who knows, it depends on the workload, and how much it strains your systems. To be certain, you'd need to upgrade your entire arms: stronger distal hydraulic pumps, sturdier pistons, upgraded electrics to power bigger motors... It would be a pretty extensive rebuild, the question is if it would be any cheaper and easier than just getting reformatted into a dishwasher."

_Pit no, he's _not _going to become a dishwasher! Forced to walk everywhere, or take transports for all eternity. He's a Racer, he can't even imagine himself as a dishwasher, how humiliating. But he can't afford that kind of rebuild, so he will have to make do with the upgrades Ratchet can get him, hope for a good raise, and make sure to save as much as he can for the next time he needs to get repaired._


	300. Chapter 300

"Greetings, glitches!" Nitro says loudly when he steps into the refueling room, sounding way more chipper than should be allowed a rather early Saturday morning.

Barricade's plans of sleeping in were wrecked by last night's trip to Ratchet. When he got back, Ironhide had left his room, and he didn't come back at all during the night. It should've give Barricade extra time to recharge, but instead it gave him time to grind his gears with worry about the future.

_It would almost have been preferable if Ironhide had still been in berth, because interfacing would've distracted him from the thoughts and calculations, and made him fall into recharge easily when they were done. _Almost_ preferable._

Barricade can't help but be a bit curious about where Hide spent the night. 

_Or maybe he was working, whatever that would mean._

A hail storm of energon gels start to hit the big mech.

"Hey..."

"Put the cyg out!" Dreadbot yells, keeping up the bombardment.

"No smokin' in the kitchen!" Crosshairs shouts.

Nitro Zeus glares for a second, then he does something that's probably a shark-like grin, and flicks the cyg onto the plate of gels the entertainers were using as ammunition. It instantly flares up into a fire, and Crosshairs shrieks, running for the sink to get water to put it out.

"Not water, you idiot, it'll vaporize and make it worse!" Dreadbot shouts. "We need to smother it!"

Jazz grabs a large bowl and throws it over the plate, where the flames are already decreasing as the fuel is consumed by the fire.

_Hopefully, those gels were made by an insentient machine, and nobody had to scrub the moulds used to make the gels, just for them to end up burning_ _._

"Our breakfast!" Dreadbot says mournfully.

"I guess you could lick the gels off my plating if you're still hungry. Was that the plan to begin with? Because you could've just asked..." Nitro chuckles at Dreadbot and Crosshairs.

"Oh, shut up! I'll tell Hide 'bou' this. 'e'll 'ave yer aft on a plate."

"There's no plate big enough for that size of an ass. He'll fucking wreck you for attempting to burn down the kitchen, though." Dreadbot sounds very satisfied with that.

"A small, fairly controlled fire just brightens the morning, and livens up the day. As does Crosshairs's panicked turbo piglet squeal, that's very cute, and totally worth it. Hide will agree." Nitro shrugs, heading for Barricade.

_Ugh, not again. Will he ever get the hint?_

"Don't look so skeptical_._ I come bearing gifts." He rumbles, sinking to his knees in front of Barricade, holding a few packets out in his open servos, as if it's an offering in supplication.

Barricade slowly takes the boxes and small bags, squeezing the parts between his servos when he takes them, because Ratchet plugged the hydraulics to stop the creeping, and the involuntary movements, so his digits don't work at all.

_New seals for his hydraulics, the electrical motors he needed, and some high quality joint grease._

"I think it is legal to give gifts to pretty mechs, right, Officer?" 

Barricade stares at the things for long moments.

_Brand new, high quality replacement parts. On a Saturday morning._

"It's not illegal. Unless the goods come from... _questionable sourcing_." Barricade says, cocking an optical ridge, because he'll be damned before immediately showing how grateful he is. "I suppose that the shop did open specifically for this..."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Probably not. Thank you, though."

"You're welcome." Nitro Zeus says, rising to his pedes again. "Now, who wants to help me clean my plating? Bring a friend if you like. Pit, bring two, or even better, _all_ of your friends!"

Jazz nudges Barricade with his elbow to get the Mustang's attention. "Ya wanna go with Nitro? I think we would have pretty fun..." He whispers.

Barricade shakes his helm. "I'm going to Ratchet to get this fixed as soon as possible."

"I'm always 'ungry..." Crosshairs purrs, tucking himself under Nitro's arm.

"Fucking deserter!" Dreadbot grumbles.

"I'll give you a nice, juicy _dessert_, babe!" Nitro leers, wrapping his other arm around Dreadbot and pulling him along.

"You better. Hide's still going to hear about this."

"Yeah, yeah, tell your Daddy all about it. I'm not afraid of him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 300, and we celebrate it with a small (but fairly controlled) fire.


	301. Chapter 301

His right arm has been dismantled, and Ratchet is changing the seals in the pistons.

"I wish I could pay you something for this..." Barricade says sincerely.

_Even though you have some credits squirreled away that he clearly isn't paying ratchet with._

_He can't afford to lose them. He has to take advantage of Hide's deal with Ratchet this time._

"It's fine." Ratchet grunts.

"Maybe, but I appreciate it nonetheless. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be able to work on Monday. I'd lose my job, and I would be back to square one with getting one, and moving out of Hide's."

"I do hope you get the job, it's not that, but be prepared for problems with your arms if you keep doing a lot of dishes by servo on a limited time. Make sure to change your hydraulic filters often, and don't wait too long with changing the fluid either, and grease all the joints very regularly. And see if you can get a medical plan from your employer, otherwise I'd suggest a medical insurance. You will _not_ hold up well for that kind of job, even with these upgrades."

_It's disheartening to know that it isn't an _if_, but rather a _when_ he's going to break again, but he's too embarrassed to tell Ratchet that there's no way he can afford an insurance._ _Not if he doesn't get a good raise, at least, and he doesn't dare hoping for that kind of credits._

"I'll be meticulous about maintenance." 

_He'll use budget filters, and the cheapest fluid he can find, and hopefully, he can find grease at one of the bargain stores, and he'll do the maintenance as often as he can._

"Are you a friend of Drift's?" Ratchet asks.

"Not really. He, uhm, he doesn't really like me. Flipped his lid at some stupid stuff I didn't even mean to get involved in."

Ratchet chuckles. "He does have a bit of a temper at times."

_Kind of like a certain medic. Maybe they're related? How awkward wouldn't that be, considering Ratchet probably knows what Drift does for a living._

"Yeah, I noticed... How do you know each other? If you don't mind me asking."

Ratchet's face goes solemn. "He was one of street mechs I helped from time to time. When he let me. He kind of grew on me, rough around the edges as he was, and I always tried to get him to clean up his act and get a job, because I knew that he could be more than that. Then Hide moved into the neighborhood, and Drift was dragged into that world. I tried talking to him, get him to get a better job, but he didn't want to leave, said he was better off with Hide."

Ratchet lapses into silence, but Barricade can tell that the medic blames himself, and that he's disappointed with how things turned out.

_What on Cybertron would possess someone to think that whoring for Ironhide is better than a real job, and self reliance?_

"Couldn't you help him in some way? I mean, with your contacts as a medic." He hastily adds the last parts when he realizes how accusing it sounds.

Ratchet shakes his helm. "He couldn't afford rehab, and after the first time he relapsed while in rehab, my appeals for goodwill always were declined. I couldn't get him to stop either, it's impossible if a mech doesn't truly want to quit. Hide has managed to keep him on the straight and narrow somehow, though. I'll give him that."


	302. Chapter 302

Barricade reboots slowly, warm and content, and not at all inclined to get up anytime soon.

Then he registers the heavy arm slung across him, something that is definitely out of the ordinary. He still doesn't feel like onlining his optics, because a quick scan shows him that it's Ironhide, and the Topkick is still recharging. Barricade checks his chronometer, because while he never wakes up when the big mech leaves, he has this niggling feeling that it isn't that early right now, and that Hide usually disappears earlier than this.

_Six in the morning. The only time he woke up this early was that first time he really went all in looking for a job, and Ironhide was still in berth then. It's entirely possible that he always stays this long._

But it's Sunday, and Barricade has promised himself to make the most of this weekend to rest and recuperate, his arms feel better than they've done in years — if they ever felt this good — so he wiggles deeper into the fluffy berth, pressing his back against Ironhide's front for some additional warmth, and lets himself relax.

_It's even more satisfying to indulge in this laziness when he has gotten up early, and worked hard all week. Not that he didn't enjoy it before, but now he really appreciates the opportunity to just go back into recharge again. He'll do this every weekend from now on._

His systems start to power down, one by one shutting down, or going into power saving mode, and his processor is starting to randomly defrag his thoughts until they don't make sense at all.

Barricade hardly doesn't even notice when Ironhide's grip on him tightens, but he's quick-booted when the Topkick growls.

"Dammit, come on, _soldier_! We need to go _right now_. Follow me, that's an _order_! I'm your superior too, you _will_ obey my command, don't listen to him, I'm your unit commander, the orders should go through me. We have to get the fuck out of here! you follow me, and if we're separated, you need to get to the rendezvous point I've pinged you on your own. That's the current mission. Now you offline your audials and comms. We're going silent." Ironhide barks, spark putting out so much energy, his plating is scorching hot.

There's some flailing, and suddenly Ironhide is sitting up, vents ragged.

Barricade doesn't know why, but he feigns recharge. 

_Or maybe deactivation. How dignified: playing dead just because the mech he's screwing talked a little in his sleep._

The Mustang doesn't budge though, doesn't do anything to show that he noticed.

"Frag." Ironhide grunts, and Barricade hears the grinding noise when he drags his servo down his face-plates.

There's rustling of fabric, and the berth dips when Ironhide gets up. Barricade hears how he lights up a cyg, and takes a deep drag. Then there's long moments of silence while Ironhide smokes some more, sitting at the edge of the berth. Then he gets up and walks out the door, without any sign of even considering if Barricade was awake or not.

Barricade immediate flops over — because of course everything starts itching and aching when he has to lay perfectly still, making it near unbearable — and he looks around the room, even if he knows that there will be no clues to what set Ironhide off — if it was a memory, or just something cooked up by his recharging processor — or where he went. 


	303. Chapter 303

Barricade is awake, but he's still loitering in the berth when Ironhide comes back. He rolls over on his back, feeling well rested, and in a very good mood.

_His arms have been fixed and upgraded, he has slept well this night — not counting the interruption earlier — and everything is all in all looking much brighter._

"Well, good morning." He kind of purrs.

_Ironhide has been very generous these last few days, helping him out in spite of not really having any obligations to do so. The least he can do is meet the mech somewhere on the way, and not just go along with what is asked of him, but actually showing a bit of that want Ironhide is fond of seeing from his berth fellows._

"Good morning, Barricade. You look very good today. Relaxed, and happy. It really suits you." Ironhide says, giving him a once-over, before rummaging through his desk for something.

"Why, thank you, Hide." Barricade tries the coy voice, because he feels playful, and he has seen the roles the others play. "You look excellent yourself. Sturd... uhm, _powerful?"_

Ironhide chuckles. "Thank you." He leans his aft against the desk, looking at Barricade.

The Interceptor squirms, both because he wants to treat Ironhide to a show, but also because it's kind of embarrassing to do it with those optics following his every move.

"I have a task for you to do today." Ironhide says slowly, optics glued to Barricade's moving frame.

"Hm?"

"You will chose one of my brothers to interface with. I think you're ready to expand your... _experience._"

Barricade freezes mid sensual slide of pedes along the expensive sheet.

_"What?!"_

"You need to pick a different lover." 

_More like a different customer._

"Why?"

"You've been in my berth every night for quite some time now. While I've enjoyed it immensely — and will enjoy it everytime we do it in the future — others have been set aside. It wouldn't be fair to anyone to keep doing this."

Barricade's intake moves, and his vocalizer clicks, but he's speechless with horrification.

"I told you right away that I'm not much for hogging the goods for myself, and that the deals get renegotiated at some point. This is the point. Everything I offered is still in play, except now you will find different berths to spend the nights in. Different landlords, if you will, I know you prefer to see this as a business transaction. If you earn it, you may get something extra for your efforts. Recharging on the couch will not be tolerated, you need to pay the rent each night. You're allowed to turn a brother down, but remember that it really won't be in your favor when it becomes time to vote about if we want you to stay or not, so I suggest you choose wisely when doing that."

_This is it, he's really a whore now. And he knows that arguing will not get him anywhere. He has to do this, and he really has to make it work with his other job, so he can get out of here as soon as possible. Before he has gone around the entire house._

"But what if I don't _find _a berth to spend the night in? What if nobody is interested? I can't be blamed for that, can I?" He says weakly, hoping that it will be tolerated, because then he can keep away, and blame that nobody picked him.

"That won't be an issue. I've had several requests for borrowing you. I don't want to overwhelm you," Ironhide says with an amused grin, "I'm certain you're not ready for a gang bang on the rec room table, so I'm telling you this now, to give you a chance to seduce a mech of your choice tonight, instead of just... releasing the dogs on you."

_How generous._

"But who am I going to pick?" He whispers, half to himself, thinking about what he has seen of the other brothers, both in action, and in others' memories.

"How the fuck would I know _that?_ Ask the other whores, if you still have _delicacies_ you need to consider, they know everyone's preferences. But — considering how many of my brothers are drooling over you — if you can't get anyone to fuck you each night, you're doing something very wrong."


	304. Chapter 304

It's not that he hasn't heard similar topics be discussed before, but it's so different to be the one asking. Barricade takes a seat by the table, fidgeting nervously with his cube of hot energon.

"So... uhm, I'm supposed to try someone new tonight. Any suggestions for whom to start with?"

The others glance at each other for long seconds, probably speaking over comms, Barricade realizes, and then Dreadbot smirks at him.

"Nitro." He says at the same time as Crosshairs, cocking an optical ridge. Crosshairs nods his agreement.

Barricade feels his face fall, and then he glares at the gathered mechs.

"He has paid you to say it, hasn't he?" He grumbles, disappointed when he thought he would actually get some serious help with chosing a suitable new customer.

"Wha'?! _No!_ Hoes before bros!" Crosshairs says, sounding shocked that Barricade would think that they're not serious.

"I would've said Motormaster." Drift says, shrugging, and Barricade gets the feeling that Motormaster would be the worst possible to begin with.

"Why would ye even think we would do tha'? An' why would _'e _do tha'?" Crosshairs almost sounds hurt.

"Because he has been persistently hassling me since I moved in, and I wouldn't put it past him to do something like that just to get his way. You did say yourself that some of the brothers are manipulative..." Barricade trails off, feeling like he did a horrible mistake, but not certain where he went wrong.

_It really wouldn't surprise him if Nitro Zeus bribed all the others just to get him into berth._

"You're so full of yourself, aren't you?" Dreadbot grinds out between clenched denta.

"What?!"

"You come in here, sitting on your high cyber pony, thinking it's below you to pay with your frame, even if you really have _nothing_ else to offer. You know that it's insulting, right? Makes it seem like you think we're less than you, and it's fine that we whore ourselves out, but _you_ shouldn't have to. Do you _really_ think any of us woke up one day and thought 'oh, gee, I think I'm going to become a prostitute'? Do you _really_ think that none of us would have wanted something — _anything —_ else than this at some point?! You're insulting Nitro Zeus too, insinuating that he would have to bribe his way into a berth, and insulting the mechs who literally own everything you take advantage of — every comfort you enjoy right now — is a dangerous path to walk. He'd probably just laugh at it, because he knows that it isn't true, and he's more likely to find humor in it, but my friendly suggestion is; don't try that attitude with anyone else..."

Barricade works his intake, because he has thought about this before, has learned that it's rarely about a mech _wanting_ to sell himself, but he never thought that his reluctance to do it would be hurtful to someone else.

"I-I know that not everyone chose this life," he says carefully, not wanting to accidentally hurt Crosshairs, or anyone else who might actually think this is the best thing that could've happened to them, "but I didn't consider that my mindset would be hurtful. I don't think you're any less than me, it's just that I struggle with the thought to do this myself..."

"If you'd been a little more open-minded, and tried to make friends in the house, you would've realized that we care for each other. _You_ may see this as a halfway house for you to get out of before you have to spread your legs for someone else, but you know what? It's not always that simple, and the crystals always seem brighter on the other side of the fence. Ever considered that we have reasons to stay here that isn't just about being happy to let everyone use us? We do look after each other here, and we've been trying to help you, but you just insult us back. You're a fucking asshole, and you're just lucky that Jazz is so forgiving, because you're insulting him too."

Barricade's tank is churning, and his spark is feeling cold with the ugly truths that are being revealed in that low growl of Dreadbot's.

"I'm sorry..." He says meekly.

"Yeah, yeah, just cut it out with the 'poor li'l me' attitude. It's very unbecoming for a mech your age, and it's fucking time you learn to play with the hand fate has dealt you. The only choices you have are play or fold."


	305. Chapter 305

Dreadbot strides up to Barricade, and holds out his data cable in a way one might wield a very sharp knife. 

_His talons really are similar to sharp blades._

Barricade slowly reaches out to take it, but then he just sits there, holding it awkwardly, not sure he wants to plug in when Dreadbot is so annoyed with him.

"You think you're the only one who didn't want to do this from the beginning? I'll show you how _I_ wound up here. You really think you're the first one reluctant to make a deal? The first one who doesn't want to give your frame up for to everyone to use, to strangers, basically? At least you have the advantage of having people to ask what the brothers are like. Crosshairs didn't, he had to guess, and hope for the best. I had Crosshairs, but I had never met him before I moved in, so how was I to know if I could trust him? And not everyone is so lucky as to get the first week for free."

Barricade dawdles with the plug for long seconds, but then he pushes it into the data port on his arm.

"I was so young, and so fucking stupid..." Dreadbot grumbles.

"Ye were in love..." Crosshairs says comfortingly, rubbing a servo up and down Dreadbot's back-struts before wrapping his arm around Dreadbot's waist.

"Yeah, well I'm not making _that_ mistake again."

As Dreadbot flips through his memories, Barricade is shown brief flashes of his backstory. 

— Dreadbot posing for pictures, smiling at the camera, preening to show off how pretty a mech will be if they use the wax in the advertisement the photos are going into.

— The yard sale to sell his furniture and other things, to make his baggage lighter, and because he wants to start over with everything fresh and new now that he's pursuing his dreams — and for some extra credits to have as a buffer — and then cleaning out his rented room. 

— Arriving to Polyhex, stepping off the rail transport with his two bags of knick knacks, full of hopes and dreams.

_He's going to be an actor/model, everyone at home always said he's so pretty, so hot, and he's so talented._

There's rejection — again and again — because the competition in Polyhex is much harder than it was back in Uraya. 

_Everyone is so pretty, he's an average at best here. And he certainly isn't going to sleep with the casting crews, or the talent scouts just to get a role._

But ends must meet, and he winds up doing some soft porn.

_Just to pay the rent on his shitty little apartment, and all the expensive waxes and polishes he needs to stay in a perfect condition. And to pay for the even more expensive drinks he nurses on the mingle parties he has to attend to try to meet the right people. Many actors have done some porn, or erotic photos, it won't impact his future career. _

He manages to make it to the centerfold of one of the higher end erotic magazines, and then his real career finally kicks off. 

_Sure, it's just tiny roles in b-movies, but it's something, and he may be noticed for something else than opening his panel, and cracking open his chest armor._

And then one evening, he goes to yet another party, and he meets a very charming script writer/director/producer.

_Swindle._


	306. Chapter 306

"Do I know you? You look familiar. Been in any movies I've seen?" Swindle asks, studying Dreadbot. 

His optics sweep over Dreadbot's frame, and momentarily stop at his chest-plates, a look of recognition passing his face almost too quickly to notice.

"I have had a few smaller roles. I played Needleshot, the drug dealer in Alleyways, that was my biggest role."

"Ah, then that's definitely where I recognize you from. That movie was good. It should've gotten more attention, everyone really was spot on with the acting." Swindle says with a smarmy smile.

"Well, I'm partial, but I agree." Dreadbot says, flushing with embarrassed pride. "So how about you? Done anything I might've seen?"

"I've been doing a lot of smaller live plays in various theaters since I moved to Polyhex, and before that, I mostly made low budget indie movies. It always looks good on the resume to have done some live work, and that I don't just sell my scripts to anyone. Shows that the art is more important than just getting it on the screen."

Dreadbot feels a bit stupid to not have thought about that. 

_Maybe he should join a theater group? Do some amateur theater to get some time in front of an audience, and maybe get a review in a paper or something?_

"Oh, of course! I really like it when a script writer doesn't just sell out. I mean, the choice of director and actors really make or break the movie." 

"I did write and direct 'Three days of power out', it was available on cheapflix streaming for a few weeks."

Dreadbot has never heard of the movie. "Oh, I _loved_ that movie! Too bad they stopped streaming it..." But he doesn't want to blow this shot at getting the right contacts.

"Come on, let me buy you a drink. I have this project I'm working on that I think you'll find interesting." Swindle says, placing his servo on the small of Dreadbot's back, leading him towards the bar. "It's an action thriller, and I think you could fit the part as the main character.

Dreadbot's sparks speeds up with excitement as he follows the older mech.

_Maybe he's going to make it this time!_


	307. Chapter 307

He falls into berth with Swindle that first night — drunk and giddy, elated by the situation, the _possibilities _— and then he falls in love.

Dreadbot has had flings and flirts, and a few mech friends, but they've all been his age, and now they seem immature. Swindle is a sophisticated mech, he has traveled, and lived in so many places, done so many interesting things, and Dreadbot learns to find him handsome, even if he wasn't that physically attracted to him instantly.

_Personality is much more important than looks in a real relationship anyway, and Swindle is very charming, and they can have interesting conversations when Swindle tells him about all the places he has seen, all the exciting things he has experienced._

"I think we should move in together." Swindle says one day. "I mean, were pretty serious now, and with two incomes, we could get a much nicer apartment than this slag hole." He motions around the tiny, worn down, one room apartment Dreadbot is renting, and Dreadbot flushes with shame that he can't afford better on his own, even as his spark soars at the thought of Swindle wanting to be that serious. "I mean, my apartment is nice, but since they never get done with the renovations after the water damage, I might as well move out since we can't use it, and this is a bit cramped for us both. My script will be finished soon, and then we can start hoisting in the money when we go into production."

_He can't really afford much more for rent, the waiter job he has in a local diner doesn't pay that well, but they'll be two to share the rent, so it could be doable, if he takes on a few more hours. And he'll get to live with Swindle for real!_

"Yes! Yes! I want to do that!"

"Come on, let's go then. I've found the _perfect_ apartment for us — nice neighborhood, top floor, newly remodeled — and if we go now, we can get a viewing, and sign the lease today, before someone else nabs it!"

_It's a bit quicker than he anticipated, and Dreadbot almost reels from the suddenness, but they can't wait, or the apartment will be rented out before they get the chance._

They drive there, and Dreadbot forces down the jealousy when Swindle flirts with the landlord.

_It's just the way he is, it doesn't mean anything._

"Uhm, can you sign the lease, babe? I would co-sign, but then I might not get the loans for financing the movie..."

"Sure." Dreadbot says, signing the contract.

_It makes sense, and if Swindle doesn't get the financing, then the movie won't be made, and he won't get his role, and his breakthrough will be postponed to the next time he gets a part._

He immediately sends the notice to his landlord that he wants to end his current lease, because he has to pay rent for three months after ending the contract, even if he moves out the same day, unless the landlord can find a new tenant to take over his lease.

_Hopefully, they'll find a new tenant soon. There's always mechs wanting an apartment, right? Double rent for three months really will put a big dent in his meager savings._

He can't worry too much about it, though, because he's so excited about moving into their fancy apartment together.


	308. Chapter 308

Dreadbot uses a bit more of his savings to buy some furniture for the new apartment, and some of it goes into the rent, because Swindle is down on his luck, and temporarily not making any credits. The script for a TV show he has been working on, that Swindle expected to bring in a truckload of credits, was turned down.

Dreadbot nabs a few stale energon gels from the diner to keep the fuel cost down. Swindle only drinks the better fuels, so Dreadbot can't buy the budget ones to keep at home. This way, he can at least cut his own costs. 

Dreadbot drives home from another long shift at the diner, pedes aching from the long workday, and he just wants to fall into berth and recharge as soon as he's inside, but he really needs a shower and a polish first. Swindle says he has been getting sloppy with his looks now that he works more, and that won't do if he really wants to be an actor.

_Not that he has much time and energy to go to auditions and mingles nowadays, but Swindle does, saying that he really tries to find someone willing to give Dreadbot a role, as if he was his manager, but doing it for free. That's so nice of Swindle._

_Even if he really doesn't like the way Swindle stays out late, and comes home smelling of others' polish, but Swindle says he just dances, and give polite hugs, and that it's expected of him to do so._

Dreadbot walks through the door, and immediately spots Swindle stretched out on the couch, a pile of wrappings from tungsten bars on the table.

"Did you eat all of them?" He says disappointedly, because he was unusually self indulgent when he bought them for himself, for days like these, when he really needs a little extra something to cheer him up.

"Yes. They're not that good though. Too tangy."

"Couldn't you've saved a few then?" Dreadbot sneers.

"Aaw, babe, don't be like that. We were out of the aluminum crackers I like, and I really felt like chewing on something when watching TV."

"Whatever." Dreadbot says, heading for the shower.

"But I have good news! The script is finished. I've applied for financing, so we'll hopefully start shooting it within a month!" Swindle says excitedly. "And I've made sure the financing will cover our living costs while we shoot, so you can quit your job too, and focus on this."

Dreadbot's spark soars.

_Finally!_

"You need to get reformatted, though."

"What?! _Why?!_"

"The lead role needs to be scorching hot. I mean, you're fine and all, but you're not up to big screen standards, if you see what I mean. You need to be more like this..." Swindle says, showing a picture of a shiny, red Ferrari alt mode.

His spark plummets again.

"I can't afford that..." He almost whispers.

_His savings are almost gone, and he's barely getting by. An alt mode like that is crazy expensive._

"Just pop your panels, and do a few more nudes or something for the advance, then you can get a payment plan for the rest."

"You knew about the nudes?!"

"Yeah, I recognized you from Playbot. We can clear the payment plan as soon as we get the financing, don't worry about it. And, as a bonus, when you become a star, nobody can connect you to the pin up pictures if you have a new alt mode, so you won't have to deal with that baggage."

It's definitely a blow to his self esteem that Swindle doesn't think he's good enough as is, but Swindle does know better what's needed for the movie to take the market with a landslide.

_He's going to be a star, of course he has to look the part._

"You see where this is going, don't you?" Dreadbot says out loud to Barricade, sounding derisive, but where his derisiveness aimed is impossible to say. "I mean, _I_ can certainly see it now, but I was a naive fool back then, so I was clueless."

"I do see it, but I'm not sure I would've seen through it if it had happened to me when I was that age." Barricade says diplomatically.

"I wouldn' 'ave seen through it either." Crosshairs says, hugging Dreadbot tighter, leaning his helm against Dreadbot's shoulder. "Ye know tha' if I ever ge' 'im in my sights, I'll kill 'im fer ye, babe."

Dreadbot snorts. "Shoot to wound. I want to finish him myself."

The glint in Dreadbot's optics makes it hard to tell if he's really joking.


	309. Chapter 309

Of course Dreadbot does the posing; grinding his exposed array against a whitewall tire; cracking his chest-plates, folding his digits around the edges as if he's opening up just for _you _— yes, Sir, _you,_ please come fuck me, I want you — smiling into the camera. He gets the credits, and it goes straight into the deposit for his new alt mode.

When he's finally reformatted — there was a big of a waiting list — he stands there, staring at himself in the mirror with bright optics. 

_He just can't believe that it's actually him. He's smoking hot! It was so worth a few more lewds._

He quits his job, because the financing is processing, and the credits will land in Swindle's account any day now, that's what Swindle tells him.

But the financing drags, and he winds up using the last of his savings, and what little is left of the credits he got from the pin-up pictures, to pay the next rent, and the first down payment on his alt mode. Dreadbot is thinking about trying to get another photo shoot to get some quick credits, but Swindle says no; he needs to keep his new looks from getting that kind of attention. He doesn't want to be known for _that_ when he has his breakthrough, does he?

_The credits will be here any day now, anyway._

He wants to go back to the diner and see if he can get a few hours to make some credits, but Swindle wants him to stay at home.

_"_I like it better when you stay at home with me, and let me explore your new frame thoroughly." Swindle pouts, and he's so cute when he does it, Dreadbot just can't say no.

Dreadbot winds up taking a short term loan to pay the next rent, and he doesn't tell Swindle about it, because Swindle will be mad, but it's Dreadbot's name on the lease, and he doesn't want to get evicted, and have a black mark in his tenant record that'll make him unable to rent anything else.

"Oh, babe, you're so incredibly hot." Swindle groans when Dreadbot saunters into the living room.

Dreadbot preens, because he never gets tired of hearing that.

"Come here." Swindle says, patting his thigh, and Dreadbot obeys, straddling the older mech.

A servo slips between his thighs, rubbing against his panel, and Dreadbot opens it immediately, knowing what Swindle wants, even if he's not really aroused himself at the moment. Swindle stares down at Dreadbot's array with bright optics.

"Would you pose for me?"

"Pose?

"Yeah, you know, like you did for the magazine. I'd really love a private show."

"I... uhm, I guess I could..." He says, suddenly feeling shy.

_It's much more intimate to do it like that, and not with a camera between himself and a pro who has already seen it all, and is rather indifferent about it._

"Excellent!" Swindle says excitedly. "Bend over the table for me?"

"Okay..."

He does it, resting his front against the table, feeling utterly stupid.

"Beautiful..." Swindle breathes, slipping his digit through Dreadbot's rather dry folds. "Open this too?" He asks when he reaches Dreadbot's port cover, flicking it with his digit.

Dreadbot flushes when he does it, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

"Look at me, babe."

He turns around to meet Swindle's bright optics. Swindle groans, reaching out to slip his digits through the folds of Dreadbot's valve again, going all the way to his port. Dreadbot jerks forward, but his hips thump against the table, stopping him from getting away.

"You've never taken it in the port, babe?"

"No." He mumbles, flushing again, because he has never felt inclined to try that, but he doesn't like feeling inexperienced either.

"Want to try it?" Swindle asks, stroking the opening with his thumb. "I haven't had that for so long, it would be so good to finally get a tight aft again. And I'd really enjoy taking one of your virginities at least..."

_The comment makes him feel both slutty, and inexperienced at the same time, but also jealous and worried, because Swindle has done that to someone else at some point, and seems to really want it, so if he denies Swindle this, maybe he'll find someone more experienced, who'll let him do that?_

"Yes."

"What did you want, babe? Use your words, honey."

"I want you to take my last virginity." 

"And where's that?"

"My... Uhm, my aft."


	310. Chapter 310

Dreadbot closes the memory before Barricade can catch more than the head of a spike pressing against an unstretched port.

"Goes to show that we really have nothing for saving our fucking virginities for _someone special_. A lot of us wouldn't recognize Mister Right even if he waved his dick in our faces, because that's what they all do." Dreadbot says derisively.

"Even _I_ know tha' Mister Right probably _won' _wave 'is dick in yer face..." Crosshairs says.

"At least then you know what you get. Smooth talk and sweet gifts can just be a way to dupe a mech into spreading his legs anyway..." Dreadbot says, sounding very bitter.

"Ye know it's Mister Right when 'e waves 'is _gift wrapped _spike at ye."

Knock Out snorts. "Anyone ever do that for you, Cross?"

"It 'as 'appened on several occasions, yes. But I only do Mister Right fer the Night."

"Yeah, never do love. It's cyber pony scrap." Dreadbot says.

Barricade has no time to comment on how cynical that sound, because he is plunged into the next memory Dreadbot opens.

Dreadbot has been to the store to get some more fuel. He can't really afford it, because the credits for the movie still hasn't come through, but he has taken another short term loan. He's really tired, because he's running on the cheapest low grade available, and his alt mode isn't very efficient with fuel, so to save fuel, he opted to walk to the bargain market, a two hour walk one way.

_They have the best prices on the crackers Swindle likes, so it's worth it._

He puts the bags down in the elevator, leaning against the wall as it takes him to their floor. The corridor seems longer than usual, but he's finally at home. The door slides open for him, and he walks inside just to freeze as soon as he's inside. The door slams shut behind him, but he just can't hear that, because he's in shock.

_All the furniture in the living room are gone._

He walks through the room slowly, not believing his own optics, because it's surreal.

_It feels like a weird dream, or perhaps a scene from a movie._

He continues to check the rest of the apartment.

_The berthroom is empty too._

The only thing left in there is the living crystal on the window sill. He stares at it for long moments — like a strange looking artifact in the desolate room — before he unfreezes, and hurriedly walks into the washracks, unable to look at the mockingly lonely crystal.

_The crystal he bought as a gift for for Swindle._

He tears open the doors to the cupboards and storage units in the bathroom, just to freeze up again, vents feeling clogged and labored.

_All the polishes and waxes are gone, all the expensive things he bought to keep himself in the condition Swindle wanted him. The only things left are a few rags, most of them used._

The refueling room is equally empty; the cooler is cleaned out, as are the cupboards, not the slightest crumb of anything edible is left behind, he turns around, unable to grasp what's going on, and that's when he spots the memory stick on the counter. He plucks it with numb digits, half expecting it to shock him, but nothing happens, and he plugs it into the socket on his arm.

It's a text file, and he opens it apprehensively.

_Well, I guess this is goodbye, Dreadbot. I found someone else, someone more mature, more on my wavelength. We had some good times, and I'll definitely miss the interfacing. I sold your furniture, hope you don't mind. They weren't that fancy anyway, and I needed some credits to start up new, I'm sure you understand. You can buy new, better ones, your new alt mode will probably open up for you to make more credits, and you'll want something that can impress people. Sloppy kisses, and my spike in your tight port. ;)_

_/S_

Dreadbot staggers, barely catching himself against the counter, then he sinks to the floor, spark spinning irregularly, feeling cold.

_The lease on the apartment! The down payments for his alt! The short term loans! He quit his fucking job!_

With a sound that resembles something a dying technimal might make leave his vocalizer, Dreadbot breaks.


	311. Chapter 311

Barricade works his intake, swallowing hard to try to steady himself to say something. The utter despair from Dreadbot's memory lingers, and he isn't certain he even could speak without his voice hitching.

"I'm so sorry Dreadbot. I know it doesn't mean scrap, but fuck, that was such an ugly thing..."

"Appreciate the sentiment."

Dreadbot skims over the immediate future; his intense attempts to make the most of his new alt mode, going to auditions until he's exhausted. He has the looks now, but it always seems like his acting falls short, and what pieces of his self-esteem remains are being ground down. He's reluctant to do another pin-up, because then it could mean that he doesn't get a serious role because of it. Dreadbot isn't picky about what he auditions for now, and would even take a role in a sparkling movie, but he knows he wouldn't get a role like that after a pin-up. His old boss has found a replacement for his job, and there's always so much competing for the jobs that don't require any special skills. He ends the lease on the apartment, but there's still the three months to go after the notice.

There's the first reminders for unpaid bills, and he's forced to give up, and do a pin-up. It doesn't pay enough to pay all the bills he is behind on, and then he's old news, and can't do another pin-up for a while.

The second round of reminders ping in his inbox, and then there's even more desperate job searching.

Dreadbot gets the eviction notice.

_Monday, you must be out before noon. If you refuse to leave, we call in the Enforcers to remove you for trespassing._

Dreadbot knows when it's time to throw in the rag and admit defeat. The last credits he have — because they're nowhere near enough to make even a small dent in all his debts anyway — he decides to burn on high grade and get hammered.

He goes to a bar in a less fancy neighborhood, where cheap high grade flows, and nobody will judge him for what he has in the cube. It's Friday night, and a lot of mechs are out partying. His sleek race frame sticks out in the crowd, and he gets many appreciative looks, and offers about free drinks, and more lewd suggestions too. Dreadbot turns them down.

_He remembers what happened the last time he let someone charm him into berth, he's not going there again, and he certainly doesn't feel like fucking anyone here._

Dreadbot is pretty drunk when he stumbles outside, heading back to the apartment he only has for three more nights. Then he'll be homeless.

A heavy arm wraps around his shoulders, and he's suddenly tucked into the side of a mech.

"Walk with me for a bit, pretty." A deep voice rumbles smoothly.

He looks up, annoyed with the presumptuousness and ready to tell the mech off for thinking it's enough to call him pretty to get his way, but even his confusing optic input — eight optics really suck when drunk — makes the words stick in his vocalizer, because the mech is massive.

"I'm going the other way." He tries, spark speeding up.

"No, you're not."

_Sharp, blue optics, dark frame... In the poorly lit street the mech is darkness incarnate, with optics like ice._

Fear starts to overcome Dreadbot, and he struggles weakly, finding the grip tightening to easily keep him from running away. He draws a deep vent to scream. Thick digits graze his throat, sharp talons extending to slip deeper among his cables.

"Careful now. You don't want to lose your vocalizer too, so no screaming." It's a low growl, and Dreadbot can't help but think of Unicron.

He's lead down the street in the opposite direction of the safety of his apartment.

"Who are you?" He sobs hoarsely.

"You have missed the down payments on your reformat, _Dreadbot,_" the mech rumbles, turning them into an alley where several other mechs are waiting, according to Dreadbot's proximity sensors all at least as massive as the one walking him, "and your financer gave us the job to repo your alt mode."


	312. Chapter 312

"Get in the trailer. We're going somewhere else." A deep, hoarse voice says from somewhere in the darkness, and now Dreadbot is almost convinced that they're all demons from the pit.

"No! It wasn't my fault!" He cries out, terrified, and he starts to really struggle against the grip around his shoulders. _"Please!_ Have mercy, don't do this. I wanted to pay, I swear, but my mech... My _ex_ tricked me, and I..."

_How is it even going to work to repossess his alt mode? What are they going to do to him?!_

"I'm sure you know all about not being able to pay the bills. This is our job, and we have bills to pay. It's neither about mercy, nor personal. It's just business." Someone rumbles.

_Pit, they're all so big, he can't even get out of the grip of the one._

"I-I... I need to pee." He says in a rush, flushing, because he's only half trying to buy some time.

_He has been drinking, and they're scaring him, and he'll pee himself in the trailer otherwise._

"Tough luck."

"You better not piss in my fucking trailer! Your lack of alt mode, and your debts will be the least of your problems." Someone snarls, and Dreadbot cowers.

_They show no empathy for his situation at all, doesn't care about him beyond that he's a mealticket._

He pushes against the mech who's still restraining him, a whimper of terror leaving his vocalizer.

Someone snorts. 

"There's a drain right there. Go ahead, just don't do anything stupid. Like trying to run." The mech holding him says.

He's pushed towards the drain, almost tripping from the forceful shove, and the way his drunken, uncooperative systems can't keep up with the sudden movement, and he stumbles over to the grate.

_Are they expecting him to go just like that, while they're watching?!_

But from what he can tell, they don't seem bothered, or even interested, as if they're used to the functions of the frame, needs must, and make do with what the opportunity offers. Someone lights up a cyg while waiting, the dim glow only serving to cast the mech's face in eerie shadows. They smalltalk among each other, too low for Dreadbot to really catch what they're saying, someone chuckling, and it's such a contrast to the terror he's feeling, it's almost a mockery of the seriousness of the situation. 

Dreadbot squats over the grate, opening his panel, and after long seconds of panic that his frame won't cooperate on this with an audience, he finally manages to go, the sounds of the waste fluid trickling down the drain pipe to hit the surface far below echoing in a mortifying way.

_Could he run for it as soon as he's done? Transform into his alt mode and make use of how fast he is..._

Dreadbot looks around, but the alley is a dead end, and the mechs are all standing between him and the street. 

_There's no way he will be able to run past them all._

He stands up as soon as he's ready, and instantly, strong servos grab his arms, steering him towards the trailer.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Without waiting for an answer, he's more or less thrown into the trailer, tumbling to land in an ungraceful heap, and then he hears how the doors are locked behind him. Through the walls, he hears how the others transform; the lift off of what sounds like a Jet, more than one Rotary, and several cars pulling out. Then the trailer rocks and a loud clang resounds through it, a powerful engine growls, and they start moving. Dreadbot curls up in the corner, sobbing into his knees.

_What the fuck are they going to do to him?_


	313. Chapter 313

It's futile to cower in the corner, and he knows it. That doesn't stop Dreadbot from pressing himself against the farthest wall when the doors to the trailer opens, spark spinning wildly in his chest.

"Please don't...!" He cries.

"Get out here now. Don't make it harder than it has to be."

Instead, Dreadbot curls further into the corner, as if hiding his face will make them disappear.

"For fucks sake."

Someone reaches inside and grabs his collar fairing, easily pulling him out. Dreadbot flails desperately, trying to find something to grab on to, but he's quickly tumbling out of the trailer, landing with a painful clang on the floor of the brightly lit warehouse they're in now.

"Watch it. If the parts are too dented, we won't get fully paid." Someone growls.

"No! Please don't do this!" Dreadbot sobs, trying to scramble away, but a heavy servo on his upper back easily pins his front to the floor.

"Anyone else thinking he's kind of familiar? I swear I've seen him somewhere."

"Looks like every other would-be actor/model. They're all interchangeable and generic"

His wrist-struts, and ankle-struts are grabbed and pinned to the floor, and the servo on his back disappears. He looks up at the mech kneeling by his helm, holding his arms.

_Gray plating in what looks like some sort utilitarian shade — it's not shiny, like the paint on a Racer would be — covered with etchings and painted glyphs, one optic and no real intake. More like mandibles or something. And a huge gun on his shoulder._

The mech stares back, and his mandibles quirk, but Dreadbot really can't interpret if it's a grin or a sneer, and it's equally terrifying either way. Then he's distracted by other servos on his frame, fiddling with the plating on his arms and legs.

"What are you... Please, stop!" Dreadbot whimpers, lifting his helm to see what's going on. He looks over his shoulder to see two mechs doing things with his legs, and two watching.

The first bits of his armor has been dismounted and are placed on the floor next to him.

_They're dismantling him! They're taking his plating, and who knows what else they're going to take? Are they going to take him apart completely?_

"No! Help! _Help!"_ He screams, thrashing wildly enough to buck the servos off his frame momentarily, even if he can't break the grips of the mechs pinning him.

The big mech with the blue optics comes up to squat next to his helm, placing a big servo on Dreadbot's back to force him down.

"Sch. Remember what I said about your vocalizer?" His voice is a quiet growl, but it feels even more threatening because of the low volume. "Screaming is pointless anyway; where we are, nobody will hear you. And if someone did, against all odds, they won't rescue you anyway..." His arm transforms into a cannon, and he grins at Dreadbot's terrified gasp, and the way he freezes.

"What are you going to do to me? Are," Dreadbot's voice hitches, "are you g-going to kill me?" He sobs.

"It's not our intention... We're just going to take back what you haven't paid for."

_Not their intention... But it could happen?_

Dreadbot looks around at all the mechs, knowing that he's outmatched.

_Struggling is useless, as is screaming, apparently._

He starts to cry quietly, momentarily meeting the optics of the big, black mech standing by the mech holding Dreadbot's pedes, looking at the proceedings. The mech suddenly grins.

"Hey, Bots! Now I know where I know this one from! I recognized him when he looked over his shoulder like that, his optic set up is really not generic. That one's on cherrypop."

_What?_


	314. Chapter 314

"The fuck is cherrypop?" One of the mechs working on Dreadbot's legs asks, discarding another plate on the floor.

"This data net site with amateur porn, where mechs can upload their own frag vids and memories, and sell downloads. Specialized in the taking of virginities, of course, hence the site name. That one took it up the ass for the first time, it's a really good memory file from the mech fucking him."

Dreadbot feels like he's going to purge. 

_Just when he thought he couldn't be brought lower. Swindle sold that awful time as porn. Is that why Swindle didn't want him to do a pin-up before he had done this? Because Swindle knew that he would resort to it later, and it would be better financially to already have that... that _porno_ uploaded when he did? After his pin-up, the demand for that download probably skyrocketed. No wonder Swindle didn't seem to care if he enjoyed it or not, and did it in such a humiliating and horrible way, he planned this all along._

Dreadbot slumps on the floor, crying quietly as the mechs keep removing plate after plate from his legs and arms, gradually getting closer to his torso. He tunes out their smalltalk as best as he can, because he was there when Swindle fucked him, he doesn't need the retelling of every filthy little detail of that from a different point of view. Dreadbot cries until he feels empty, as if there are no sobs left in him, and he's just a dried up, numb husk laying there on the floor.

He tenses again when the servos get to his aft, removing the plates there.

"_Please_..." He whispers.

"We need all the plates." Someone grunts.

Digits slip under the plates to reach the screws to the mounting brackets, much too close to his port for comfort. Dreadbot whines, then the last plates are removed, and he's bare for them to see.

"Well, I guess he tightened up since he lost his virginity." Someone cackles, and everyone starts laughing.

Dreadbot flushes with humiliation, once again reminded of a time he'd rather forget.

"Ugh, his field is making me pressurize. Can't wait until we're done, and I can get my spike wet." Someone groans.

Dreadbot starts to thrash around in panic.

_They're going to fuck him! They're taking him apart, and then they're going to use him, and there's nothing he can do about it. They liked Swindle's point of view from that Primus awful time, and they want to reenact it in real life, and he'll just have to go along with it. Or something _unintentional_ might happen._

"Don't do it, please!" He cries, squirming in those unbreakable grips.

"Be still, you glitch. This side is done, we're halfway through." Someone grumbles.

"Let's flip him."

He's easily lifted by his arms and legs, and turned over while suspended in the air, then his naked back hits the cold, hard floor, and he's pinned again as they start to work on the other side of his arms and legs.

_At least they didn't just go for it immediately, but who knows what'll happen when they're done with this side of him too?_


	315. Chapter 315

The floor is cold against his naked back, and Dreadbot starts shivering after a while, but he still feels empty, unable to cry more over his misery.

When the mechs working on his arms — the one with a cannon in his arm has joined the green and yellow mech who was initially alone with working on the upper part of him — reaches his torso, digits slipping under his chest-plates to work on the mountings there, Dreadbot starts to struggle again.

_They're too close to all the sensitive components, his spark chamber, and he'll be so vulnerable, already is, but when they lift those pieces of armor..._

"Please don't..." He says, even if he knows that they won't listen.

He tries to break the grip around his wrist-struts, but it's impossible.

"Let go, please. I won't struggle." He pleads quietly, while the last mounting screws are being loosened.

The mech holding him glances at the one with the cannon, and he gets a nod in answer, then he lets go of Dreadbot's arms. When his chest-plates are lifted from his frame, he folds his arms over his chest to cover the thin petals covering the opening to his chamber, to provide him the tiniest sense of modesty. He's not quick enough, though.

"Hey, this one has been in Playbot too!" The green and yellow mech says, looking up at the others. "I recognize those wires." He points to the right side of Dreadbot's chamber, now covered by his arms. "Had a different frame back then, though."

Dreadbot flushes. 

_Can everything stupid he ever has done just stop haunting him? Even things he never really considered stupid until they came back to humiliate him on this lowest point of his life, as if to grind in that he's trash, never was anything but trash, and never will be anything better either. But of course these bastards will do nothing but consume porn constantly, so they'd know. They probably can't get much pussy. Even if a few of them could be considered attractive, their assholishness completely retracts from it._

"Let me see." The big Rotary says, stretching to see without letting go of Dreadbot's ankles.

His arms are pried away, and the Helo nods approvingly.

"Yup, he was in that increasingly sticky porno mag you had back in the slam, before we got Crosshairs to keep us occupied."

_Fuck his functioning. Primus must hate him, or is that Unicron cackling in his audial? But of course they've been to prison. His spark speeds up. The million dollar question — which he seriously can't afford betting on — that can completely make or break his night is why._

"He's been in Playbot again after that, with this frame." The mech who has seen him on cherrypop says.

They let go of his arms again, and Dreadbot immediately covers up, even if they all have seen him now.

_And apparently, a lot of them have seen him before too. At least covering up gives him an illusion of being a little less vulnerable._


	316. Chapter 316

Dreadbot is shuddering with cold, back to crying when his thighs are pried apart, and they start to remove his pelvic plating. His interface panel is manually opened to give access to the screws and clips everything is mounted with, and he squirms in discomfort from knowing that they're all watching. Then digits start to work way too close to his valve, a servo repeatedly brushing his valve-lips as the digits work on a bolt under the remaining plating.

"You've done porn too, haven't you? Some softcore nonsense, getting fingered, but no pussy or anything really visible." The big Helo rumbles, quirking an optical ridge.

"Since when do you watch soft porn, B.O?!" Someone laughs.

"Bought the wrong download, might as well watch it since I paid for it. Did learn a few tricks to get the sluts to cream up good, so it wasn't completely wasted, even if it wasn't much to jerk off to."

"If you're talking about Crosshairs, you can just tie a ribbon around your cock and wave it in his face, and he'll cream up. Don't really need any more tricks than that." The green and yellow mech cackles.

The Helo barks a laugh, and flips him off, momentarily letting go of one of Dreadbot's thighs. 

Dreadbot wishes he'd dare kicking the bastard in the face, but he doesn't. So far, they haven't damaged him — or even touched him inappropriately, not more than necessary, considering what they're doing — but that could probably change very quickly. A single blow in retaliation could be fatal, especially now that he's almost completely bare.

_They could certainly do nasty things he'll survive too..._

Then the last plates are lifted from his frame, and he immediately cups his array with one of his servos to shield it from their lingering optics, even if his legs are still held spread by the Helo. Dreadbot is so slim now that he's naked, the mech's servos easily circumvents his thighs, adding to that feeling of helpless vulnerability. The servos slowly slide up his thighs, and Dreadbot's vents hitch with horror when he sees the way the Helicopter's bright optics roam his protoform.

"Please don't..." He sobs.

"Blackout..." 

"His field is even more tantalizing like this than just the mortification; all thick and sticky with fear... Whatever happened with the law that stated that 'if they can't fight you off, they're fair game'?" The Helicopter says — his voice rough with static, field cloying with arousal — easily prying Dreadbot's servo from his array, and his other arm from where he's curling it protectively across his spark chamber. His wrist-struts are pinned above his helm with one servo, a display of how unevenly matched they are.

"That was a different life, and there's no such law. If you do that now that we're out of that place, you'll get your second strike in no time. I don't think any pussy is worth that, brother." The mech with the cannon says. "I'm pretty sure it really is considered a war crime too, just that our owners encouraged it to make our opponents fear us even more. If someone ever pressed the issue with the galactic council, I bet our owners would just blame the soldiers involved for malfunctioning, and smelt them to appease the ones seeking justice..."

The Helicopter grunts derisively, but he lets go of Dreadbot and gets up. Dreadbot immediately sits up, curling up to cover himself, and to preserve what little warmth he can. The mechs start to gather the plating, wrapping the parts in rags to prevent scratching, putting it in shipping crates, and Dreadbot feels dismissed, but he just doesn't move.

Instead, he stares with strange detachment as they gather what was parts of his frame a few hours ago. 

A hysterical laugh forces it's way out of his vocalizer, strangely electronic, and he can hardly tell if he's laughing or crying. A few of the mechs turn to look at him as if he's grown a second helm, but Dreadbot can't care, he stares down at his thin struts and soft protoform, all the holes where screws and bolts kept his armor in place.

_He's half the mech he thought he was, the rest was just borrowed fairings._


	317. Chapter 317

"Oh, I almost forgot. We need your t-cog too." The mech with the cannon says. "Nitro and Springer, could you hold him for me?"

It kicks Dreadbot into gear; he scrambles backwards, uncaring about how the rough floor scrapes his protoform.

"No! Please don't take that too!" He cries, coming to a stop when his back hits the wall.

_Not that he has an alt mode to turn into now, but without a t-cog he's... He doesn't even know what he will be, only sparklings have no ability to transform, but he's not a sparkling, and a grown mech who can't transform is..._

"You upgraded it when you got that alt mode, it's part of the deal. Just go back to using your old one."

"I-I don't have my old one! I don't have _anything_ of my old format left!" He cries.

The mechs pause, looking at each other. "Nothing? Did you trade it in to get a discount on this one? Most mechs don't do that with the t-cog, even if they do it with the alt mode."

"No! The mechs at the shop said it was all junk, and they were kind enough to dispose of it without charging me for the recycling..."

"They probably tricked you. Used alt modes bring in fairly nice prices, and you old one was rather pretty too. Most likely, they sold it to someone who couldn't afford a new one."

It does nothing to comfort Dreadbot, but he stills, feeling stupid, betrayed, and utterly useless. It's enough for them to grab him; one mech holding his arms, the other prying his legs apart again, and the one with the cannon reaches for his array.

Dreadbot screams.

"Remember what Hide said about your vocalizer..." The one with one optic growls, pushing the digits of one of his servos against Dreadbot's throat, easily restraining him with one servo. "Fucking glitch, think my audial got shot."

"Remember when Blackout tried tearing out the vocalizer on an organic for the first time?" The green and yellow mech snickers.

"Ugh, don't remind me. Took weeks to get the gunk out of my finger joints." The big Helo grunts.

"And still you kept fucking it, even though it offlined before you came." The mech with one optic says, and Dreadbot can't tell if he's making a face or grinning.

"Post-battle libido. I needed to get off. The screaming was stopping that from happening. It was tight and wet enough, and it was still warm when I was finished." The Helo shrugs, smirking.

Dreadbot is so tense, his hydraulics are whining, and he's hard pressed to not start wailing in terror and subsequently lose his vocalizer too.

Digits dig deep into Dreadbot's chassis in the juncture of his hip, close to his array, and there's this strange twinge in his entire lower frame when his t-cog is popped out of it's socket.

"Thank you." The mech says when he has extracted it, tossing it between his servos in a playful way.

It's a mockery of politeness, because it has nothing to do with choice, and Dreadbot certainly wasn't offering the part. The other mechs lets go of him, and they leave him where he's falls to his knees, legs refusing to carry his weight. They continue to load up the parts, as if he isn't sitting there, cold, naked, broke, and soon to be homeless. The crates are locked shut, the door to the warehouse is rolled open, and the first mechs start to step out before Dreadbot come to his senses.

"Are you just going to leave me here like this?!" He shouts. It isn't logical to ask them that, and he knows that, but he's panicking, because he really doesn't know what to do.

They all turn to him. "Yeah?" The mech with just one optic says questioningly.

"But... What... What am I supposed to do?" He sobs, curling up harder.

"Uhm, go home?" The green and yellow mech asks.

"_How?_ I can't walk through the city like this!" Dreadbot whispers hoarsely, motioning to his naked struts, shivering with cold.

_He'll be raped, and if he's held up outside for too long, he'll go into stasis from the cold. It's probably a long way to go, he isn't certain where he is, but it was a pretty long ride._

"Take a transport then."

"I don't have any credits." He whispers. "That's why I'm behind on the down payments. Couldn't pay the rent either, so I'll be evicted on Monday. And I can't work like this..." He sobs, for every word it sinks in how bad off he really is. 

"You could do porn. It's nothing new for you." The Truck says, shrugging. "You look hot like that too."

_Even if he does some porn — which he really doesn't want to — it'll be too little, too late. He can't show himself outside like this, won't even be able to get to the set. And he'll be homeless in a few days, there's no way he'll get creadits before that._

Dreadbot curls up, crying into his knees._  
_

_He's all alone in this._


	318. Chapter 318

"You know, Hide, I'm tired of waiting in line for Crosshairs to be available. Maybe we should consider hiring?" Blackout says.

"Yes..." Hide looks Dreadbot up and down as much as possible considering how he's huddled, making him curl up even harder. "Anyone opposed to this?" 

The other mechs say they're not against the idea. Dreadbot has stopped sobbing, apprehensive about what's going on.

"Are you interested in making a deal for staying safe, warm, and well fueled? Keep you off the streets."

_A deal with Unicron. It sounds too good to be true. He's not going to be a bastard like they are._

"Yes. Depending on the terms."

_Not that he really have any other options._

"You live in my house, get all the fuel you want, and all necessities will be provided. You pay for this privilege by providing us with service and entertainment."

_Still sounds too good to be true._

"What does _'service and entertainment' _entail?"

"Whatever we consider at the moment. A lap dance, a nice show, a blow job, some good fucking..."

_Of course._

"I'm _not_ a _whore!_"

"Not yet..." Someone snickers.

"Suit yourself. The door is there. Just go home, and figure out a better way yourself." Hide says, crossing his arms across his broad chest-plates, raising a challenging optical ridge.

Dreadbot slowly rises to his pedes, walking past them all like a mech going to his execution.

_He needs to stay in the shadows when he walks home, can't draw the attention of others. Someone is going to be enough of a bastard to put the last nail in the coffin of this wretched night. Especially considering what neighborhoods he has to walk through..._

As soon as he steps out of the building into the crispy night air, he realizes that it's much colder than he expected. Dreadbot can feel his movements go slow when his components are chilled, and the hydraulic fluid thickens, making him slow and clumsy. A sob leaves his vocalizer.

_He'll never make it. And even if he does, there are too many obstacles to overcome before he has a new apartment, and a new job, and he's back on his pedes. He won't be allowed to rent without someone else co-signing as safety, he lost contact with his friends while he was swept up in his relationship with Swindle, and those he has reached out to has been very reluctant to help financially or in any other way that could be useful. He's so fucking tired of hearing how they're _supportive, but unable to help right now_. He has to get a new alt mode, and he's already neck deep in debts._

He falls to his knees, feeling defeated, broken.

_What's really the difference between fucking a mech he isn't attracted to in front of a camera, or fucking these mechs in a private setting?_

"I still have a lot of debts, they need to be paid, I need to make credits to start paying them back..." He confesses.

"I'll look into what I can do about that. And if you do well, we could consider getting you a new alt mode later on."

_It's still a fucking deal with Unicron, but it's the best shot he's got right now._

"I accept your offer." He says, a shudder traveling down his frame from the cold.

"Excellent. I think it'll be a good deal for everyone." Ironhide says, sounding very satisfied. Dreadbot doesn't exactly agree, but he stays quiet. "Well, since Blackout was the one to hatch this idea, and he's all revved up already, he can do the test drive. Motormaster, you drive him home when Blackout is finished. I'll take the goods to the drop off. And please don't damage him. I want a round later on."

_Test drive?!_


	319. Chapter 319

Blackout strides up to Dreadbot, towering over him, and he has never felt so small before. The big mech gives him a wolf grin, falling to his knees for easier reach to feel Dreadbot up.

Dreadbot whimpers when huge servos slide down his sides, thumbs stroking his front, down to his array. He still presses into the touch, because the servos are warm, and he's freezing.

_A test drive... Then he needs to show them that he'll be as good as they expect, and not show his reluctance. Even if this particular mech doesn't seem to care either way._

"So...Sir? How do you want me?" He tries to purr, doing his best to conjure up the attitude he displayed when on a photoshoot, even if he's close to crying, and way out of his depth.

Thick digits slip through his still dry folds, but there's nothing he can do about the lack of lubrication now, and he can't think of anything that helps arousing him when the servo not toying with his array gropes his aft..

"I'll throw you on that container over there, and fuck you really deep." Blackout tells him, nodding towards the container while his optics still roam Dreadbot's frame.

_Crude, but at least honest, and it doesn't sound that bad. Unless the mech has some nasty mods or something._

The digits slip inside him, quickly finding the spots that has him going slick, the ball of Blackout's servo rubbing against his anterior node in a surprisingly pleasurable way. Then Dreadbot yelps when Blackout suddenly stops, just to lift Dreadbot. He's dumped on his front on top of the container, legs dangling in the air. It's much too soon, what little interest his valve was starting to show from the fingering fizzes out and dies immediately. Unaware of that, and quite possibly completely uncaring, Blackout steps up behind him, lines up, and slides inside in one smooth movement.

_It's so fucking much, the spike inside him is so big, hitting everything at once. It feels like it's pushing against his spark chamber every time the big mech bottoms out_

The container is cold against his front, but the big servos grabbing his hips supplies some warmth. As soon as the Helo is hilted, he starts thrusting, and Dreadbot arches his back to give better access, hoping that Blackout will finish soon. When the Helo pulls out, he whines, afraid that Blackout is eager to try what Swindle did to him, and he's fairly certain that he will need repairs if the bastard goes for that, repairs that he can't afford.

_The only good thing about that time with Swindle was that he wasn't very well endowed. Blackout is, though..._

"Easy there, eager little slut. I'm just switching positions." Blackout snickers.

_Oh, he hates being called a slut — and he's anything but _eager —_ but this is hardly about what he wants or not. The best he can do is get the bastard to enjoy himself, and overload, and it probably won't hurt if he can manage to make Blackout think he's a real stud too._

He's turned around, and Dreadbot wraps his legs around Blackout as well as he can reach, digging his digits into the Helo's collar fairing to cling to something, finding that pressing close has the additional benefit that he gets some heat from the big Rotary's frame. Blackout easily holds him up with big servos splayed on Dreadbot's aft. He slides inside again, and Dreadbot whines with faked pleasure when the length slides into his slick valve. Blackout starts to use him as a cock sleeve, moving Dreadbot along his thick shaft, and the smaller mech can't do much but let him.

_At least he doesn't need to do all the work._

He's pretending to be teetering on the edge, whimpering and moaning, when a thick digit is pushed into his port. Dreadbot squeals, and squirms, trying to get away from the unannounced — and unwanted — intrusion, and the mechs watching them snickers. Blackout just keeps his pace and it's just a couple of more thrusts before he overloads, hips stuttering before he grinds in deep, and then Dreadbot feels even more full and realizes that Blackout is filling him with transfluid.

_Gross. At least he was quick._

"I think we'll have a lot of fun with this one." Blackout states.

He yanks his digit out of Dreadbot's port, and it's uncomfortable, the way it pulls on the mesh, and his port clenches. Dreadbot yips, and everyone laughs. Blackout pulls out, putting Dreadbot down, steadying him for a few seconds with wandering servos — or rather taking another chance at groping him — before finally getting his servos away.

Transfluid drools out of Dreadbot's valve, and standing on his own pedes again, he can feel it run down his legs in a mortifying way. He's handed a rag, and wipes himself down as well as he can, feeling how loose his valve is after taking such a massive spike.

He hops into the trailer as requested, and the doors are closed behind him. Curling up in the corner as they roll out, the cold seeping into his struts again, reality catches up with him, and he starts sobbing.

_He's a whore now, and he's being transported to a future where the only thing certain is that he's going to be fucked by the mechs who took his alt mode._


	320. Chapter 320

Dreadbot hurries into the house as soon as he's let out of the trailer and the door is pointed out, not wanting any passerby to see him like this, and he's still freezing.

_And not very keen on staying outside with Motormaster, and the Fliers landing one after the other, the mechs lighting up cygs, or tussling with each other, apparently in a very good mood from a successfully done job. And a new acquisition of their own._

"'ello. I'm Crosshairs." A mech about the same size as him greets him when he steps through the door, halting to take in the surroundings.

_It's kind of a relief to see someone who's not huge._

"Hi. I'm Dreadbot."

"I've made some ho' energon, an' grabbed ye a blanket." Crosshairs says, throwing the blanket to Dreadbot, and motioning for him to follow him to the bar.

Dreadbot wraps the blanket around himself, and follows slowly, looking around.

The house is huge, and has been very fancy at one point, but it seems like it has been empty and left to wither for a long time. The fancy furniture in the apparent rec room clashes with the dilapidation, but some parts of the room looks like it has been repaired, and there's tools by a half finished wall, so it's obviously a work in progress. Crosshairs hands him a huge cube of energon, and Dreadbot sips it thankfully.

There's definitely high grade in it, and it's high quality ingredients. He takes a deeper drink, because he can't remember when he had really good fuel the last time.

_Probably sometime in the beginning with Swindle. It tastes wonderful, and he really needs it, as his now bare frame uses a lot more to keep him warm._

"Hide said ye'll spend the night with 'im, an' tha' I should answer any questions ye 'ave until 'e gets back."

Dreadbot nods, still feeling numb about the situation.

"So you're a, uhm, a whore too?"

"I'm their lover, an' they provide fer me."

"So how does it work, they can fuck us however they want, whenever they want, no matter what we think about it?"

"I guess... I never saw a reason te object. They don' damage ye deliberately, though, an' if ye need rest, fuel, or somethin' needs some time te heal, ye'll be excused."

_It's still a whole lot of fucking that could be required. And no '_deliberate_' damage? But accidental might happen? Just like the didn't '_intend_' to kill him? Could that happen too? Unintentionally..._

"What if they want stuff you don't want to do?"

_He's not taking it up the ass again._

"I wan' te try everythin'! An' the things I'm no' _tha'_ inte, I can do now an' then for their sake. I's no big deal." Crosshairs shrugs. "An' I like it when they get aroused by the things they do te me, so i's a win-win anyway."

_It's a huge fucking deal. There's things he doesn't want to do, and nobody should ever get to force him to do them. _

"What do we get out of all this? Except a place to stay, and fuel."

"Repairs if we need 'em, Hide 'as a deal with a good medic. We always 'ave the best fuel, an' if ye wan' yer own room, ye can pick one, an' repair an' decorate it the way ye like. If ye do well, Ironhide is pretty generous with buying stuff ye wan' fer it too."

_That sounds pretty good actually; his own space, almost like an apartment of his own, just smaller. The way he'll pay for it is not very nice though._

"What did you do to wind up here?" He changes the subject, because his thoughts and the discussion isn't making anything feel better.

"I'm their prison conjux." Crosshairs says proudly.

_Fucking pit!_

"D'ye like weed?"

"Uhm..." _He never tried it. He tried boosters a few times when going to the mingles, but it was too expensive for him to become a habit._ "I don't know. Never tried it."

"Ye seem like ye need some. Come on, we've got some really nice cygs, an' if ye like it, Ironhide will set ye up with a prescription to make it legal fer ye te smoke."


	321. Chapter 321

High grade and weed gets him to relax a bit — enough to not be terrified when some of the mechs are done outside and comes inside to have drinks, and kick back — and the blanket helps him feel less exposed and vulnerable, and to warm up enough to stop shivering, even if he's still feeling cold to his struts when Ironhide comes back. 

_Unlike Crosshairs, who's straddling the green and yellow mech he now knows is Springer, trailing little kisses along his neck while Springer speaks to the Nitro Zeus as if he doesn't even notice._ _Is that what his future will look like? Trying his best to get these mechs interested in fucking him? Even if he doesn't want it. Ugh_.

"Come on. Let's go to my room." Ironhide murmurs in his audial, and Dreadbot jumps around on the couch, almost headbutting him.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't hear you approaching, and..."

Ironhide chuckles in what seems to be nothing more sinister than amusement, stretching from where he's bending over the back of the couch, then he offers Dreadbot a servo. Dreadbot hesitantly takes it and stands, allowing Ironhide to guide him towards the stairs. The big mech laces their digits, pulling him along — weirdly enough, it feels like a scene from a movie, where they're on a frat party, hooking up, and how often does that end up well — and Nitro whistles. Dreadbot feels himself flushing, because everyone knows what's going to happen when Ironhide has led him up the stairs.

"Still cold?"

"Yeah..." He mumbles.

"I think I can remedy that."

Dreadbot manages to not make a face, at least. 

_It's the deal he made, he better just get used to it. It's _just_ his frame..._

The door slides open, and Dreadbot is surprised when he sees the room. He expected it to be cluttered and messy, dark and dingy, full of stolen parts. Instead it's neat, with tasteful furniture chosen with comfort in mind, and pleasant lighting that's easy on the optics. The shutters for the ceiling window are open, and he can see the sky, strewn with stars, and it's kind of the view he imagined he'd have from his berth when he made it to the big screen, and had all the riches, and the fancy house, and all the things. He'd have a skylight just like that, and...

"Want a drink?"

"Yes, please."

_It'll be easier to go through with this if he's drunk. He's already had one of them, and who knows how many he'll have to take tonight? Might as well numb himself._

"So what's your poison of choice?"

"Something strong? I-I don't really know much about different kinds and things like that. I usually just get what the bartender recommends." He says sheepishly, feeling inexperienced.

_He never drank much, because he couldn't afford it, and while the buzz he's feeling from the high grade already in his systems is nice, it makes it harder to think._

I've got a few options, as long as you don't want sweet."

_Does that apply to interfacing too? He can't even decide of that's a pro or a con._

"It's fine. I like tangy more than sweet." He manages to say without cackling hysterically when thinking about what this night will entail.

Ironhide grabs a bottle from a cabinet next to his desk, two cubes, and pour generous servings. He hands one to Dreadbot, who sticks one of his spindly arms out through a gap in the blanket, wanting to start crying again when he sees the state of himself. He busies himself with a big mouthful, almost sputtering because the high grade packs one hell of a punch, burning it's way down his throat.

Ironhide smirks at him, probably catching his struggle. "Is it good?"

"Mhm!" Dreadbot squeaks. "Strong, like I asked for."

Ironhide shakes his helm in amusement. "Come on, let's get you warmed up." He wraps an arm around Dreadbot's shoulders.

Dreadbot's tank turns with nerves, even though the warmth of Ironhide's frame feels so good against his.

_This is it. He should've emptied the drink in one go. Spread your skinny legs, you whore..._

He follows along — not that he could break free unless Ironhide allows it — in spite of wanting to just run out of there, curl up in a corner and wake up to find this a nightmare. But Hide doesn't lead him to the berth like he expected. He steers Dreadbot towards a door, and the would-be actor/model turned hooker can do nothing but follow and see what's behind door number two.


	322. Chapter 322

It's the washracks, and Dreadbot just can't decide if he's relieved — because of the glory of the prospect of a hot shower — or despairing, because this is it, there's going to be interfacing now.

But Ironhide pulls him along to the right, and when his optics leave the lit up shower stall, he notices the oil Jacuzzi in the darker part of the washracks, partially obscured by a wall. Low lights in warm tones — hidden behind decorative shelves, and artistic installments of crystals and metals, around the tub — slowly lights up to a comfortable setting.

_This is what he was supposed to have when he got his breakthrough and became a star and had all the credits._

He stands there — staring in reluctant awe, clutching his cube of high grade — so absorbed in his gawking, he almost flinches when the massive arm slips from his shoulder, strong fingers gently stripping the blanket from him.

"Can't bring this rag, but I promise you won't freeze in there anyway."

His servo is grabbed again, and he's pulled along to the stairs that lead into the hot oil. It's such a strange act in the situation, because there's no leering, no excessive touches, just a careful urging with a chaste touch. 

_Almost gentlemechly._

He takes the first step down the stairs, and a servo on his hip shatters the moment where this isn't a business transaction, and his frame isn't currency.

"Watch it. I haven't gotten around to put the slip protection on the stairs. I would have to empty the tub to install them, and I just can't bring myself to do it. I enjoy it too much, and I'm reluctant to be without it even for just a day."

_It's an understandable reason, but he doesn't want to hear things he can relate to, and doesn't want to hope that it means that the servo on his hip is there just to steady him. Bastard._

Dreadbot still allows Ironhide to help him into the tub — it's really more of a pool, at least for a mech Dreadbot's size — and the warmth is so very welcoming, enveloping his cold and sensitive struts and protoform in an almost sensual way. He slips into the oil up to his neck, taking a seat on the padded ledge, and Ironhide follows his example, sitting on a distance that doesn't seem standoffish, but not intrusive either. The big mech stretches his arms along the edge, comfortable in his own space and plating.

_Easy to be comfortable when you _have_ plating, much harder to be cocky when you're naked, in someone else's house, where you're basically a slave. (A prisoner? it's not like he can go out looking like this...)_

"I hope you'll find the accomodations to be to your taste. It's a work in progress — well obviously — but what we have accomplished so far will hopefully keep you comfortable." Ironhide says, sipping his drink.

_It's so fucking surreal. They're discussing the state of renovations of the house, when all this really is, is a transaction of sexual favors. As if this is truly a two-sided agreement, and not one mech in a power position, and one who really has no other option._

Dreadbot smiles, and it feels like the plaster is flaking off of his face-plates from how fake it is.

"It's very nice!"

_Far nicer than anything he has ever seen before — at least the parts that are renovated — but he doesn't want to be _here_, even if he'd want this place. It's a very confusing mix of jealousy and derision he needs to analyze before he'll know what he feels about it._


	323. Chapter 323

"Fuck, you're so tense. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." Ironhide says, tipping his helm back to rest it against the edge of the tub, staring up at the dim leds lighting the ceiling.

_More than he already has. Well, not hurt him physically, per se, but Ironhide has taken the only thing he had left..._

"This is one of my favorite things; just coming in here and have a nice, relaxing bath. Always reminds me of how fragging lucky I am. But, then we're the blacksmith's of our own fortune."

Dreadbot nods, because he doesn't know what to say.

_He certainly hasn't forged any luck._

"What about you? What do you enjoy to do in your spare time?"

_Is the mech seriously smalltalking? Why not just get to the fucking, and get it over with? It's not like they're on a date. Maybe an employment interview..._

"I..."

_What the fuck does he enjoy? He was focusing on auditions, pursuing his career — when he wasn't working to make a living — and then he was hanging out with Swindle, awed by his life experience, but that was probably all lies, and being awed by a bastard like Swindle isn't much of a hobby, and certainly not an indulgence..._

"I don't know..." He says, rather miserably. "I was working so much, and then I was trying so hard to please someone else..."

_He doesn't want to admit how stupid he was._

"I can relate to that." There's a hard edge to Ironhide's voice, and he lifts his helm from the edge again, looking at Dreadbot with bright optics. "But how about you come over here, and we do something... _enjoyable_ in our spare time?" He leers.

_Of course the smalltalk would lead to fucking. It's what he agreed to, after all..._

Dreadbot certainly isn't a virgin — not in any way, thanks to Swindle, and everyone here knows it. Again, thanks to Swindle — but he has absolutely no idea how to start. Whenever he faced with a new mech before, it often started with tentatively making out with his lover, and then it escalated. But he doesn't want this mech to fuck him, and he certainly doesn't want to make out with him. In fact, he doesn't feel like being touched at all, by anyone. It's not that Ironhide isn't his type. Dreadbot would find him attractive if they met under different circumstances, but tonight is just a disaster through and through, and Dreadbot just wants to sink under the surface of this tub, and wake up in the lumpy berth he had in his old apartment, sputtering for air, just to find it all a nightmare.

_But he has to do this right now, has to start moving, and doing something. Maybe he can do what Crosshairs did to Springer? That seemed neutral enough, and then Ironhide can just shove his spike inside at his own leisure, and he can just allow it to happen._

He scoots closer, not wanting to stand up and show his naked struts, because he feels so vulnerable. As soon as he's within reach, Ironhide grabs his hips and easily lifts him into position, straddling the big mech. Dreadbot's thighs are spread wide, and his bare array is pressed against Ironhide's still closed interface plate.

Ironhide's optics lock on Dreadbot's exposed spark chamber, now just above the surface. A thick digit trails the seam between two of the platelets, and Dreadbot whimpers with fear, entire frame tense.

"If I was really into your pain and humiliation, I would have let Blackout do his thing back at the warehouse, and taken the second round. If I hadn't gone first. I want to hear you whimper, but not out of terror or pain."

Dreadbot is lifted higher, and it forces him to steady himself with his servos on Hide's shoulders, spark spinning wildly in his chamber. Then Ironhide leans in to tease one of the seams between the thin plates with his glossa, and Dreadbot mewls, surprised by how good that felt.


	324. Chapter 324

He's grinding against Ironhide's ventral plating, charged up beyond the limit of shame, arching his back to give the best possible access to the sensitive plates covering the opening to his spark chamber.

_Like the little whore he has become, enjoying himself with his customer._

Thick digits fumble between his legs — digits that can easily be turned into sharp talons — but he can't bring himself to even say something about it.

_Not that he really can protest, he's a toy now..._

The digits slip into his heavy valve, slick with oil, if his own lubricant would be insufficient.

_There's something arousing about the overall slickness, in spite of how he wants to hate everything about this._

Dreadbot grinds down against the servo when Hide's digits are finally hilted. He feels the way the mech's lip-plates curve against his spark chamber, but it's just too good for him to be annoyed about the smugness.

_The mech knows his way around a frame, that's for sure._

Dreadbot finds some comfort in spitefully reminding himself that Swindle wasn't even half this good in his best days.

The digits slip out, and he keens in protest.

"Want more?"

_He does, but not cock. He's still not keen on being used as a transfluid receptacle again, he wants to overload too. Not that he has been spoilt with overloads when fucking up until now, he usually don't, but he really wants this one. Not just build up, and then cruelly missing out for someone else's pleasure._

"Yes!"

_It sounds good, even if he means more of this and leaves it open for interpretation. He has no real say here anyway._

"Let's get into the shower then. I don't want to splash the oil all over the place. Or get transfluid in it for that matter."

_Cleanliness. He wants to be scathing about it, but it's a trait he can't disapprove of._

Ironhide easily lifts him, and Dreadbot makes a noise of surprise, wrapping his legs around the sturdy mech's waist. Oil drips from their frames when Ironhide carries him out of the bath, grunting about getting those slip protections installed, and then it's just a few steps to get to the shower stall. The water is already running — there must be controls for it by the tub, another tech luxury that he is reluctantly awed by — and set to a perfect temperature, and then Dreadbot's back is slammed against the wall, the heavy frame pressing against him. 

Ironhide still hasn't opened his panel, he's just grinding his pelvic plating against Dreadbot, but he manages to apply just the right amount of pressure on Dreadbot's node, and Dreadbot's digits scrabble against his back armor of their own accord.

Then Ironhide pulls away, and Dreadbot growls in frustration, because he was getting close. Ironhide hums, reaching for Dreadbot's valve with his servo, easily keeping him up with just one arm.

"Are you ready for me now?" He purrs, slipping two thick fingers into Dreadbot's slick valve.

_He will never be ready for that._

But Ironhide expertly curls his digits, hitting nodes inside Dreadbot, and all that leaves his vocalizer is a desperate whimper. He makes a disappointed noise when the digits are pulled out again, but they're immediately replaced with Ironhide's spike, pressurizing straight into him.


	325. Chapter 325

He really wishes that it wouldn't feel this good, that he could just stay indifferent and let the mech finish, but it's impossible when this is the best interfacing he's had for a very long time.

Ironhide has set a langorous pace of long, hard thrusts, seemingly hitting every spot inside him, and if that wasn't enough, he slams against Dreadbot's anterior node every time he bottoms out.

Dreadbot arches his back, not in a position to do much at all, but it makes Ironhide adjust his grip to get one servo free to toy with Dreadbot's spark chamber again. 

It makes Dreadbot's charge rise immediately, even just the slight brush of a thumb along a seam is enough to have him teetering on the edge of an overload.

"Please..." He whines, everything forgotten except his urgent need to overload.

"Well, since you ask so nicely..."

A slightly firmer touch to his spark chamber is all it takes, and the loud, drawn out moan Dreadbot makes surprises himself. His entire frame is tense as a bowstring when he rides the high, and then he slumps, still held up by Ironhide. Dreadbot's vents are fast, and his fan is making the water splash around when he comes down from the overload. Ironhide puts him down, steadying him with his servos on Dreadbot's shoulders.

Dreadbot's post overload bliss evaporates when he realizes that Ironhide's spike is still pressurized.

_Hide didn't overload. It's probably not good for a whore to cum before their customer. Not to think of what he'll want as compensation..._

"You didn't overload!" He blurts, and then his spark flips, because it sounded a lot like an accusation.

Ironhide chuckles. "No, my stamina isn't that bad. What is it with pretty little mech's, and only having experience with one minute mech's?"

Dreadbot flushes, because now he feels like an inexperienced fool, who just overloaded immediately.

"I-I'm _sorry._ I didn't mean... I didn't really think at all."

_It's not like he's an experienced whore, even if they sure are doing a effective job at getting him there._

"I figured as much." Hide sounds amused, and he quirks an optical ridge. "It has been a stressful night for you, and I know it's not unusual that it'll make a mech really horny. I don't mind that you enjoy yourself. Quite the opposite, actually."

He rubs a mild solvent into Dreadbot's struts and wires, thick digits mapping out the components, and Dreadbot is once gain reminded of how vulnerable he is, and bare for the mech to see. He wants to cover up again, now that he isn't too distracted to remember things like modesty, but he knows how rude it would be to try to cover himself now.

"But what about you?"

_Not that he really cares — he'd much rather be left out of it — but he made a deal to entertain, so he better perform well enough to satisfy Hide. Even if a blow job would be kind of gross, at least it would mean his aft is safe for now, and maybe he'll be allowed to stay the night, and avoid winding up in someone else's berth. And he certainly doesn't need to be kicked to the curb right now._

"All in due time. Right now, I want us both to get clean enough to get into the berth."


	326. Chapter 326

Dreadbot is handed a sponge, and he hesitantly starts to wash Ironhide, even if the act throws him for a loop.

_He was convinced that it always would be more or less like with Blackout; no real concern for his pleasure, and he'd be lucky if it didn't hurt too bad or was too humiliating._

Showering together like this feels intimate, not at all what he'd expected, and he is mentally flailing, because he rarely did it before, and doesn't exactly know what's expected of him.

_Well, washing, of course, but is he supposed to make it more sensual in some way?_

Ironhide seems very certain about what he's doing, though, so Dreadbot tries to follow his lead, scrubbing the planes of his armor with the sponge, and dipping his digits between the plates to reach the deeper components. He avoids the area too close to Ironhide's spike, knowing full well that it's just procrastinating the inevitable, but he's spared from being caught dawdling when Hide sinks to his knees, starting to scrub Dreadbot's legs. He starts at Dreadbot's ankles, slowly working his way up, and when he reaches the inside of Dreadbot's thighs, Dreadbot feels himself starting to heat up again. Ironhide has almost reached the juncture of Dreadbot's hips — his hips that are twitching with aborted attempts to get those digits somewhere else — when Hide looks up, smirking at him.

"You've been washing that plate for a long time now. If I were more delicate, it would be stripped of paint by now..."

Dreadbot snatches his servo away in embarrassed alarm, because he's fucking up and it's apparent _why,_ and he really doesn't want the bastard to know that he is annoyingly good at this.

"Pray tell, little mech, what is distracting you so badly?"

_He's not going to admit that his valve-lips are starting to feel heavy again, and that he's longing for something inside him, or on his node, anything really. Not when he's with the bastard who oh, so generously offered him help _after_ picking both him, and his future apart._

"I was thinking about how good you look, kneeling for me." 

Ironhide's optical ridges raises.

_Fuck, it wasn't meant to come out like that! He was aiming for a fairly neutral compliment! Well, all this was for naught, he'll get to meet Unicron for real tonight. Stupid, stupid..._

The big mech rumbles a deep laugh. He shakes his helm in clear amusement, and then he rises to his pedes. Dreadbot presses his back against the wall, uncertain what to do, because he doesn't know what to expect. Ironhide plants a servo aginst the wall next to Dreadbot's helm, leaning in closer, and Dreadbot tries his best to become one with the wall.

"Feisty! I like it." Ironhide murmurs in a dangerous voice, flashing sharp denta.

"Not that feisty back in that alley, or the warehouse." Dreadbot mumbles, trying to remind Hide that he can't provide much resistance, if that's wat the mech is after.

"You had no chance, and you're not suicidal. You're a survivor; you do what it takes to get out of a situation. Most mechs would still be sitting on that floor, crying in self pity, but not you. You calculated your options, and you went with the one that will let you live to see tomorrow, even if it's not an easy choice. You're an opportunist, and I like that in a mech."

_Ugh. Why does he find this the most flattering thing anyone has ever said to him? Why is this bastard managing to make him flush with confused pride? Everyone else always complimented him on his looks — which are clearly a matter of easy come, easy go — but these words touch something in him that he didn't know needed some attention._

"I'm guessing what really distracted you was the need for this, though..." Ironhide leers, slipping his digits through Dreadbot's slick folds.

Dreadbot is not prepared, still thinking about what Ironhide just said, and he bucks into the touch without a chance to stop the movement that gives him away.

"Yeah, I thought so. Come on, lets get out of here. You won't freeze in my berth either, I promise you that."

_Smug bastard._


	327. Chapter 327

They dry up with rags, even though there's an air dryer installed in the washracks, because — according to Ironhide — the air dryer is overrated. Dreadbot is ushered back into the berthroom, walking in front of Ironhide, and the big mech pats his aft, clearly having overcome his almost gentlemechly ways from before.

_Then again, why would he be a gentlemech when he already has had his spike inside his newly acquired whore?_

"Frag, you are so pretty." Hide groans, sliding a servo up Dreadbot's side.

Something about the words has Dreadbot's insides knotting up. "Please don't call me that." He whispers hoarsely.

"Anything else would be a lie."

"Maybe, but my prettiness never ever brought anything good into my functioning..." Dreadbot answers, thinking about how he wouldn't have come to Polyhex, convinced that he would become a star, and live the good life. 

_How he wouldn't have wound up doing pin-up pictures that'll follow him for the rest of his life, if he ever gets to leave the house again. How he wouldn't have landed here, being a whore for a bunch of mechs with questionable ways of making money, and probably no morality. Mechs sharing a rundown, but halfway repaired house in a rather unorthodox set up he can't wrap his processor around. And already having their prison bitch living here, but they're tired of waiting in line, so they recruited him, because he really couldn't say no. _

_Yeah, fuck 'pretty'._

"As you wish, _feisty_."

Then Dreadbot yelps when his aft is cupped, and he's flung onto the berth.

The landing is soft, not at all like it would've been if this had been the berth Swindle stole from him.

_Swindle was too weak to be able to throw him like this anyway, the small, weak, deceiving little bastard. Wasn't handsome either, and he wouldn't have smelled good if he hadn't "borrowed" the good solvent. And his cock was lacking in size too, as well as his overall performance in berth. _

He flips over on his back just in time to see Ironhide crawl up the berth, stalking him with a wild glint in his optics. Dreadbot squeaks again, crab walking towards the headboard. It's futile, of course, but Ironhide grins like a cyberwolf and grabs his ankle-strut, pulling him down to lay stretched on his back. Ironhide nudges his legs apart, settling on top of Dreadbot, and his weight easily pins the smaller mech, even resting on his knees and elbows. Ironhide peers down at Dreadbot's spark chamber.

"I'll probably never get tired of this view."

"You said I may get an alt mode." Dreadbot says, sounding much more whiny than he planned, but his spark is plummeting.

_If they like him like this, he'll be naked forever._

"You can earn one. I don't just give stuff away without getting something back."

_Yeah, right. Not if they don't want him to succeed. He'll never be that good a whore anyway._

"Fuck." He grinds out, saying it to himself.

"Much obliged."

Ironhide rolls his hips, hilting himself in a smooth move, and Dreadbot mewls in spite of himself.

"That's not what I meant." He dares saying, because Hide seems to be amused by him talking back. 

"No? How about this, then?" Hide starts moving with slow, deep thrusts, rocking Dreadbot.

"Meh... You're not getting at my anterior node. I really like when that's stimulated too." Dreadbot really tries to sound indifferent, even if chills of pleasure shiver up his back-struts everytime Hide bottoms out.

"M-hm." It sounds rather dismissive, but Ironhide manages to get an arm between them all the same.

Dreadbot feels encouraged. "Better, still but a bit sloppy. Circle it with the tip of one digit."

Ironhide gets up from on top of him to kneel, pulling Dreadbot's hips into his lap.

"I guess I'll have to do it like this, then." He holds on to Dreadbot's hip with one servo, circling his node with one thumb, and the angle really hits everything Dreadbot could want. "I get a very good view as a bonus."

"You can show your appreciation by applying yourself. Actions speak louder than words." Dreadbot snarks, but it comes out a breathy moan, so it loses some of the effect.

Ironhide just smirks and continues what he's doing.


	328. Chapter 328

Dreadbot is reduced to a mewling mess, arching his back to get that thick spike as deep as possible inside him.

"Up to your standards?" Ironhide asks smugly, brushing his thumb over Dreadbot's anterior node.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Dreadbot hisses, unable to play the snippy part anymore.

Ironhide pulls out.

"What?! No! Don't stop now, fragger!" Dreadbot growls.

Ironhide grins at him, petting his valve-lips in an infuriatingly teasing way that does absolutely nothing to bring Dreadbot closer to his overload.

"You're so demanding." Two thick digits slip into Dreadbot's valve, and he tries to grind down on the servo. "I want you on all fours, so I can fuck you as good as you deserve."

_It's not really his favorite position, there's something about it that feels demeaning, and even if it's his valve that's being used at the moment, it reminds him about that time with Swindle that wound up on the data net, and the position clearly was about the humiliating effect._

But there's not much of a choice for him here, and Dreadbot resigns to just being thankful that his ass is still untouched. He smoothly rolls off Ironhide's lap, the digits slipping out as he does so, and then he stands there, waiting, all too aware of how Hide is probably ogling his array.

"Could you show me how you like it?"

"What?"

"Show me how you like to be touched."

Dreadbot turns his helm to stare at the mech, but then he realizes what _that_ probably looks like — like a damned pin-up pose — and he turns away again. 

_Of course the bastard wants a show. Points for not just ordering him to 'masturbate for me', at least._

He reaches between his legs, slipping a finger through his soaked folds, flushing when he feels how stretched he is. 

_Well fucked. At least the mech has a decent spike._

Dreadbot slowly circles his node, and it feels so good, because he's revved up, and the slick slide of his digit over his node is a well-known sensation. He never did it in this position before, but there's something comforting about the familiar action, and he's getting closer to his peak. Dreadbot lets his helm loll forward, a quiet moan leaving his vocalizer.

He almost startles when Ironhide's servo slides around his hip, joining his own servo, one digit on top of his own, following his movements.

"Like this?" Ironhide asks, kneeling behind him.

"Yes!" He hisses, because it feels so good, he can't really focus in the trail of pre-transfluid the head of Ironhide's spike is leaving behind when it rubs against his aft.

Ironhide's other servo strokes slowly up his back-struts, and then it wraps around the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. Dreadbot's spark hiccups, and he's certain that his face-plates are going to be smashed into the bedding, and he's going to be brutally fucked, that Ironhide just humored him because he finds amusement in letting him have a go at being in charge, and then yanking his figurative leash. 

That doesn't happen, though. After that squeeze, the servo slips around him, digits finding the opening to his spark chamber again. Dreadbot makes a noise and presses against the touch, forgetting about stimulating his node. It doesn't matter, because Ironhide takes over. Dreadbot grabs on to the bedding, trying to rock against both the servos, and when Ironhide rolls his hips, spike slipping into Dreadbot's slick valve, Dreadbot moans so earnestly, he flushes with how wanton he sounds. Then Ironhide flicks his node in a particularly effective way, and Dreadbot's valve clenches.

"Oh, yeah..." Ironhide groans, speeding up his thrusts.

Between the thick spike moving inside him, the skilled digits on his node, and the novelty of touches to his spark chamber, it doesn't take Dreadbot long to reach his peak. He shudders through the overload, hips jerking, and he pushes back to give better access, to get that spike deeper.

Dreadbot's arms give out, and he keels forward, but strong servos wrap around his hips, keeping them hiked up as Ironhide relentlessly pounds into him a few more times, chasing his own overload. Dreadbot's face-plates are pressed into the bedding, but his systems are shutting down as he's falling into reboot, so he doesn't have the wherewithal to think about that, doesn't find his position humiliating. The last thing he feels before he falls into reboot is Ironhide pressing in deep, spilling inside him.


	329. Chapter 329

It's Blackout who's on top of him, easily restraining his arms, and even if he tries bucking and writhing, there's nothing he can do. The thick spike is pushed into his valve, no matter how dry and unprepared he is, and he screams in pain and revulsion, because he certainly doesn't want the Helo in any way, and especially not like this.

"Shut up, you fucking glitch! My audial got shot!" Blackout growls with Nitro Zeus's voice, grabbing for Dreadbot's vocalizer.

His spark speeds up even more, feeling like it's going to explode with terror...

Dreadbot's optics online, his vents hard and fast, and he frantically takes in his surroundings, trying to make sense of reality. He struggles with the thick cover he's almost buried under, feeling claustrophobic, until he's finally free, and coherent enough to realize what's going on. 

_It was just a nightmare._

Then he's finally awake enough to have it all come crashing down on him.

_The repo — his alt mode is gone — and Blackout almost raping him. The deal with Hide, and that's where he is now: in Hide's berth. He's a whore for the Autobots, and he paid his rent before falling into reboot, selling his frame to the mech who's recharging next to him. Gross. And still he overloaded from it, physically enjoyed it..._

Energon rises quickly at the back of his throat — from disgust and what's well on it's way to become a hangover. Dreadbot flies out of berth, hurrying into the washracks, and he just makes it to the sink in time, his entire frame convulsing as he purges violently several times.

_Everything is gone; his apartment, everything he called his own. Swindle sold his furniture, and his personal mementos were thrown out when he moved in with Swindle, as his '_boyfriend_' thought they were useless._

Dreadbot rests his forehead against the cool sink for a long time just standing there, waiting for his tanks to settle. It takes a while, but when he finally feels certain that he won't puke again, he rinses his intake, and sinks to the floor, curling up on the heated tiles.

_Another mocking reminder of the luxuries he dreamt about, what he was supposed to have when he made it big. Not what he wants to have rubbed in his face that the only way he'll ever get it is if his pimp has it._

He starts to sob quietly, but as soon as the dam is open, it quickly turns into loud keens and hiccups. Dreadbot wraps his arms around himself, but the way he reaches around his thin frame reminds him of what he lost, what his life has become.

_There's no way out for the foreseeable future. He really needs someplace to stay, and this is the only available place. He has to make sure that he'll be allowed to stay, and to do that, he'll have to please the mechs. No matter how unwilling he really is. He's a _whore _now._


	330. Chapter 330

"Are you still feeling nauseous?"

Dreadbot startles from his restless slumber when Ironhide speaks. He's still curled up on the floor, and while the tiles are warm against him, he's still shivering, naked as he is.

"No." He says in a small voice, feeling stupid, and embarrassed that Ironhide knows that he threw up.

"Then come back to berth." Ironhide says, not waiting for a reply as he easily scoops Dreadbot up, carrying him bridal style.

Dreadbot stifles a sob, because he wants to say no, but it's not like he'll be able to do anything to enforce it anyway. 

_If Hide wants to fuck again, he better just spread his legs._

"I guarantee that you will be more comfortable there."

"The floor is good enough." Dreadbot grinds out, and he hears that he sounds like a petulant sparkling.

_How dignified._

"The way you're shaking with cold tells me otherwise."

He's placed on the berth rather carefully, and it really is much softer and nicer. Not that he will admit that.

"Here," Ironhide hands him a cube full of energon, and a rerouter chip, "for the hangover, and to get you to relax a bit."

Dreadbot slowly takes the rerouter, staring at it, because he isn't certain that it's legal. A scan of the cube tells him that it's med grade mixed with a some high grade, which is a dichotomy, but really not all that surprising. He takes a deep drink, and it's not very tasty, but probably exactly what he needs.

_It was such a long time since anyone brought him anything in berth like this, way back in Uraya. Why is this bastard the one who shows him more care than anyone else has done?_

"It's just the equivalent of an over the counter rerouter against nausea. Nothing to be worried about." Ironhide says, and Dreadbot realizes that he has been staring at the rerouter for quite some time.

"I think I'm good with this." He says, holding up his cube. "I've never taken much meds, so I don't know how I'll react to using it with the energon. I'm not nauseous now anyway." 

_He probably could get nauseous if he starts thinking too much of his situation again._

Ironhide shrugs. "It's your frame, and your recharge."

_Not really his frame anymore._

Dreadbot sits on the berth, drinking his fuel rather slowly. Not that stalling really benefits him; the fucking is going to happen anyway, and it would probably be better to just get it over with. But he's too miserable, and really doesn't want to.

Ironhide stretches out on the berth next to him, punching his pillow a couple of times to fluff it up. He groans in pleasure when he lets his frame go limp and relaxed, and Dreadbot can't help but feel envious, because it looks so comfortable, and the sound Ironhide made makes him want to feel the same way.

"Are you planning on finishing that this side of the morrow?" Ironhide grunts, sounding surprisingly crabby.

"Well, excuse me for not coping well with being chop-shopped and turned into a slave!" Dreadbot bites back to stop himself from starting to ugly cry again.

Ironhide's optics flash, and Dreadbot's spark flips, because it reminds him of being led into that alley by Hide, how dangerous the mech is.

"Trust me on this; this is _nothing_ like slavery. You're free to go at any time, if you don't see this fitting you."

"Like I have anywhere to go. Like I could leave, looking like this."

"But you still _have_ two options. Even if you consider both of them bad, you still have them."

"Well... I guess..."

"Here's a _suggestion_ for the rest of the night — a suggestion you're free to listen to or not, it's really up to you, as the free mech you are — down that drink, crawl down under these covers, and get some good rest in a safe, comfortable, warm berth. You've _earned_ it, after all, and I honestly think it would be foolish to waste a comfort you've earned by sleeping on the hard floor in the bathroom. Then you can consider your options tomorrow, when your processor is defragged and clear."

_The fucking bastard has a point. If he has paid for this, he should take the opportunity to sleep comfortably. He has spent enough nights on the floor since Swindle stole his berth._

Dreadbot downs the drink and stretches out next to Ironhide, keeping a distance between them, because he sure as pit isn't going to curl up against the bastard. 

_The berth really is obscenely comfortable._

He wriggles deeper into the plush mattress, pulling at the pillow to get it to support his neck, and then he sighs in bliss. His frame is much more sensitive without his plating, but this berth is nice enough to be more comfortable like this than his apartment floor was when he was fully armored. The high grade starts to make him tired, and he feels his struts relaxing.

"Good choice." Ironhide mumbles, sounding halfway into recharge already. He still throws the fluffy cover over Dreadbot before relaxing again, and then his vents even out.

Dreadbot is awake for all of ten seconds after Ironhide falls asleep, then he's out like a light.


	331. Chapter 331

"Here, I got you this. If it fits, I'll get you a few more. It should suffice to keep you a bit warmer."

Dreadbot stares at the unshapely pile of organic fabric Ironhide holds out for him for long seconds before he gingerly grabs it. He shakes it out, and holding it to dangle at it's full length reveals that it's roughly shaped as his frame.

"The zipper is the most fragile part, so zip it carefully."

Dreadbot finally finds the wherewithal to start moving, and he pulls down the part he is assuming is the "zipper," sticking his pedes into the legs of the garment.

_He won't be naked anymore. The fabric coverings may be flimsy, but roaming optics won't find their target, and he'll get a bit of modesty and privacy again. And as a bonus it isn't anything like the coverings that's popular with dancers, and for some erotic magazines. And whores. Those coverings leave little to the imagination. This is made to cover him._

It certainly doesn't hurt that the fabric is so soft against his protoform, instantly warming him up. Dreadbot quickly shrugs his shoulders into the the fluffy onesie, wriggling to get it settled, and then he pulls the zipper shut.

"Thank you! This is really nice!" He says sincerely, because even if it would be preferable to get some new armor, this is more than he would've ever expected when not even a full week has passed since he made the deal. He wraps his arms around himself, rubbing his servos up and down to just touch the fluffy fabric. "Isn't things like this very expensive?"

"We can't expect you to freeze all the time, and it isn't much of a cost when you've been off world and made trading contacts, and don't ship it in by the regular trading routes." Ironhide says, folding his arms across his chest-plates, a satisfied smirk stretching his lip-plates. "And you shouldn't feel forced to huddle in someone's berth all the time just to keep warm. I mean, I do enjoy finding you there when I get home, but you should be free to move around comfortably, and enjoy your side of the benefits of our deal."

Dreadbot makes a face. 

_It feels so much dirtier when he's reminded that the comforts he's allowed to enjoy here is paid for with his frame. It's easier to push those thoughts away when he has been thoroughly fragged into the berth, and is snuggled up in thick covers, nicely buzzed on weed, and high grade. Sure, the rerun of his first time taking it in the port — bring a friend this time — was an utterly degrading and horrible experience, but it was expected to happen sooner or later, and both Blackout and Motormaster shot their loads pretty quickly, and then it was over. And the 'no damage' rule allowed him more prep, so it was less painful than that time with Swindle. Otherwise, it hasn't been that bad. All the mechs he has fragged so far look good, they're clean, and have been decent in the sack. Not much different from the one night stands he has had before, except the much fancier living spaces._

"Can we not continue to mention my deal all the time? It kind of makes me feel much more like a prostitute."

"Technically, you are one. I thought it made it easier for you to deal with this to remember that it's business."

"Sometimes it does, but I don't really feel like a whore when I'm in your berth. Or Roadbuster's. Springer's... We're just two mechs having fun, and that's preferable."

"Well, that mindset is something I appreciate, and I'd rather have you see it that way, because that's how I want to see it myself. Just remember that you're employed, and that gives you certain benefits. Even if you're thinking of it differently when you do the deed, that won't change the fact that you have rights to certain things, and you're allowed to make requests for things you want. I won't rip you off, like your ex did."

Dreadbot feels his lip-plates twitch, and he's close to start crying, reminded of how Swindle fooled him and is the reason why he's here.

_Why is he safer and better off with someone who's basically a pimp than he was with his boyfriend? Why does it feel better to have a deal with clearly stated terms, instead of a relationship with someone? Shouldn't love be better than business? But then again, Swindle used his love, and made business of it..._

"I hate him so much." Dreadbot blurts, voice hitching.

"You have every right to. If you decide to kill him, please do it in a way that we can clean up easily, though." Ironhide says, wrapping his arm around Dreadbot's shoulders.

Dreadbot doesn't know what to say, but his spark makes a backflip, because Ironhide sounds like he really means it, and he's just not used to mechs being so casual about murder.


	332. Chapter 332

"What _is_ that?! Why is he covered up?!" Blackout asks Ironhide when Dreadbot enters the rec room.

Dreadbot's chest feels cold, because if enough of the brothers — gang members, he reckons by now — object to him being clothed, he may be back to walking around naked again. 

_He's there for their sake, after all._

"He can't walk around naked all the time. Do you really think his shuddering is sexy?" Ironhide says, voice with an edge of finality.

"I suppose it does put a damper on his attractiveness."

"And he was uncomfortable, and we can't expect our employees to be uncomfortable all the time. Then we wouldn't be any better than our owners were."

_What the fuck is this talk about their 'owners'? Now that Ironhide said it, he remembers it being mentioned during the warehouse incident he'd rather not think about._

Blackout makes a terrifying face when their owners are mentioned. "Ugh, it's so hard to try to wrap my processor around all these rules — not to mention all the unwritten social protocols — that applies to civil life."

"That's because your processor is made from a brick that was sanded down to the shape of a processor." Springer snorts.

Blackout shoots him with one of his lasers on a very low setting, leaving behind bare metal, and the stench of burnt paint.

"Hey, I was polished this morning!"

"If you wreck something, the credits to replace it will come out of your share." Ironhide says. "And since we really didn't like it where we were— and not in prison either — we better try to figure out a way to do this, and that means not treating our employees like or owners treated us. And I think it's unsexy with the shuddering and shivering."

"And the chattering denta is such a turn off." Nitro Zeus voice is a dangerous purr close to Dreadbot's audial. 

Dreadbot startles, and swivels around. His spark is still spinning wildly and it refuses to slow down when he sees the way Nitro is ogling his frame.

_He hasn't done it with Nitro yet, doesn't know much about the mech, more than that his humor is lewd and sometimes annoying._

"This, though," Nitro says, servos sliding over the fluffy fabric from Dreadbot's hips, up his sides, "this certainly is not a turn off." 

He grabs the zipper and slowly pulls it down, bright optic watching the slowly revealed protoform, before it flicks up to meet Dreadbot's optics. Dreadbot's spark is still spinning nervously, because he knows where this is going, and it's always a certain amount of tension when trying someone new. He still turns his knees outwards to give Nitro Zeus better access when the big Flier slips a servo inside the onesie, digits caressing the front of Dreadbot's pelvic plating, slipping over his spike cover before stroking his valve-lips. The touch is as chaste as could be — considering where Nitro's servo is moving — a soft petting of Dreadbot's valve-lips, no digits slipping into his folds, and it's an unexpected teasing that makes something inside him twinge with need for more. He gasps, widening his stance without really thinking about it, rubbing against those digits. Nitro Zeus makes that quirk of his intake that's his version of a smirk.

"Hide says you're feisty." 

"Perhaps? I just have standards." Dreadbot immediately snips, because the role actually comes quite naturally.

Nitro Zeus chuckles wickedly. "Is that so? I hope this baby is up to your standards..." He holds out the servo he isn't playing with Dreadbot's array with, pressurizing his spike into it, holding it in a way that implies that it's heavy.

Dreadbot stares, still not used to such blatant displays.

_It's a nice spike. A few simple mods; a couple of ridges, and a few LEDs that probably aren't stock, and a decent size. Not fancy, but certainly adequate. If the mech knows how to use it. His talented fingers implies at least some skill._

"It'll do, I guess."

Nitro grins. "Trust me, I'll _do._ I'll do a _lot._"

Dreadbot shrieks when he's suddenly hoisted up, and slung over Nitro's shoulder.

"Hey! What the...?!"

"Mh, I love the way you squeal, babe." He says, quickly carrying Dreadbot up the stairs.

Dreadbot stops the memory, and Barricade almost protest, because he really wanted to see the rest, but he restrains himself.

_It would be awfully rude._

"You know, I might've shared this with you, if you hadn't been such an ass when we gave you our opinions — which you asked for — and if you had shown at least a hint of willingness to do what we all do here. Now it's up to you to make your decision on who to fuck. You're going to do them all sooner or later anyway, and if you won't believe us, then I see no point in giving you advice. Good luck tonight." Dreadbot bumps his hip against Crosshairs, the Corvette still wrapped around Dreadbot. "Come on, Springer commed me. I think we should give him a two-for-one deal."

"Sounds like fun."

They quickly down their energon and leave Barricade standing there, feeling stupid.

_He's going to ask Jazz anyway, he doesn't need their advice, but he really has to be more mindful of what he says if he doesn't want to make more enemies among the pleasurebots._


	333. Chapter 333

"So, Ironhide told me to try someone else tonight..." Barricade trails off awkwardly.

_What a fucking conversation to have with his lover._

"That isn't unexpected. He has given ya a whole lotta time ta get ta it yourself. Guess he finally realized that ya'll never do it of your own accord." Jazz's voice isn't scathing, but the comment still has an edge.

_He has managed to insult Jazz again. Fucking stupid, but he really doesn't want to do it._

"Yeah, well I was just wondering if you have any suggestions? I mean, you... _know_ all of them, so who's a good choice to start with?

"I'd say Nitro is the best for a first time, but Roadbuster is good too. Or Springer."

"Why is everyone so hung up on Nitro? What can that asshole possibly do that redeems him?" Barricade thinks out loud.

"We don' share what tha brothers do behind closed doors ta outsiders, n' I'm sorry honey, but ya haven't done _anythin_' ta be considered an insider. I really like ya Cade, but I ain't gonna tell ya 'bout his fuckin'-habits. Once ya decide ta be one of us, I can do that, but I'm not gonna be tha one who blabs stuff all over tha place. Keepin' a level of discretion comes with this job." Jazz says pointedly. "We do share between us entertainers, because it's in all our interest ta know how ta make all that brothers happy, but we don' tell anyone else their dirty little secrets. That way, it's up ta tha brothers ta decide what they want ya ta know 'bout them, and if they do somethin' with ya when ya're alone that they don't do anywhere else, then ya've been entrusted with a secret of theirs, n' ya better not break that trust n' tell anyone outside of us, not even tha other brothers."

"Like an oath, or something?"

_The whore's pledge of silence, or what?_

"Nothin' that fancy. It's just common sense, really. I mean, we're professionals, n' while I don' think twice 'bout gossipin' 'bout regular customers, tha brothers is a different game. Not only because they're our employers, but because we get to share some very intimate times with them since we live here, n' often spend tha whole nights with 'em. They're more than just customers, n' they often treat us differently than other customers do."

_It sounds logical. If the brothers have kinks they'd rather keep secret, it's probably wise to not go spreading it around, and if the pleasurebots all keep quiet outside their own ranks, then they could share important information, without being slagged by a humiliated Warframe._

"I'll see who's available tonight, then."

_And pray to Primus that it isn't just Blackout who hasn't hooked up already. He better not wait too long, or everyone else may be taken already._


	334. Chapter 334

The day passes far too quickly for his liking. He isn't keen on going back to his job tomorrow, not when his arms feel this great, and he knows that the wear and tear will start immediately, but the prospect of fucking someone else tonight is far worse. Barricade even had a hard time focusing on when Jazz fucked him, and he feels guilty about that. Jazz didn't say anything about it, but Barricade has no illusions that Jazz didn't notice.

_He needs to get out of here, so that he can be his best for Jazz._

They head to the washracks together to get ready for the evening. Jazz is working in-house — most of the pleasurebots are on Sundays — and even if it kind of feels nice that Jazz will be close by, he can't help but think that all of them are competition, and he can't dawdle for too long, or he'll be stuck with Blackout, or Motormaster. 

_Springer was an aft too with the whole bottle thing with Bumblebee, but Jazz suggested him. For someone who has been tied to a berth and systematically raped, anything less than that might seem nice, though..._

"Lemme scrub your wings. They're so pretty, ya really should display them their best." Jazz says, sliding the sponge over the sensitive surface.

"Sure... Thanks." Barricade says absentmindedly.

Jazz starts to work on his shoulder-wings in silence, and Barricade can almost feel where his service signs used to be.

"I'm sorry that I'm so slow with accepting everything, and that it makes me come off as an asshole. I worked so hard to be self sufficient, I was a mech who could provide for myself, and probably for someone else too. Now I... I have _nothing._"

"Well, ya did bring it onto yourself. I know ya don't wanna hear that, but it's true. But there's no point beatin' yourself up 'bout it either, because ya can't change tha past. What ya can do now is make tha best of the situation. I mean, if your other job works out, that's great, but until it does, ya really should try ta take advantage of tha things ya have here. I mean, medical benefits, and not just comforts, but actual luxuries..."

_Well, the legal weed is nice, and the shooting was fun, and he likes the high grade... It's just the fucking that he doesn't enjoy. Actually, Hide is good in the berth, so it's nice physically. It's just the reasons for the fucking that are unpalatable._

"I'll try."

They finish up, and after a few kisses that turn heated, they head for the rec room. The music is already audible, the smell of weed reaches his olfactory sensors before they leave their corridor, and there's that telltale buzz of voices that shows that the party is already brewing.

_Who is he going to try? Will someone of the suggested mech's — not Motormaster — still be open for suggestions, or will the others already have hooked the allegedly nice ones? And who the frag is he going to pick? Trying to snare Nitro after he flat out refused to believe Dreadbot — and Crosshairs, and Jazz too — feels like a defeat. But then again, Springer did nothing to get Blackout to rethink his bastardly ideas... _

_According to Jazz, Roadbuster doesn't drool when he falls into recharge, that has to count for something, right? And Springer had some skills with his servos, if you take Crosshairs's memories into account..._

_Even Blackout seemed decent in those, so it's hard to judge. The mech did maim-murder-rape at least one victim in Primus knows what order..._

_So, three votes for Nitro Zeus, one for Motormaster, and one suggestion for Springer or Roadbuster. Seems like an easy choice, really._

_But it's still the crude, horny bastard. Ugh._


	335. Chapter 335

The rec room is full of mechs: Rodimus and Drift are bringing drinks to the brothers lounging on the couches, then Rodimus slips into Sunstreaker's lap — carefully, minding the mech's pristine paint job — and Drift wraps himself around Sideswipe. Bumblebee is already cuddled up to Roadbuster.

_One of his options already preoccupied._

Barricade looks around, spotting Breakdown by the bar, talking to Motormaster.

_Nobody mentioned Breakdown. Is it because he has some weird kinks, or is it because Knock Out is sweet on him? But then again, Crosshairs has a crush on Ironhide, and everyone is eager to get into his berth anyway..._

And thinking about Crosshairs summons the pleasurebot in question: Springer comes down the stairs, with both Crosshairs and Dreadbot tucked under his arms, a smug smirk stretching his lip-plates, because he's the stud who spent the entire day with two whores, and everyone knows it.

_Ugh._

Out of options, and knowing that he will have to be quick to land his last resort — Nitro — he looks around the room to find the mech he'll have to spend the night with, lest he'll wind up with someone who might be worse. But Nitro is nowhere to be found, and Barricade I starting to feel nervous.

_What if he won't be here at all? What if he has business to deal with? Or just is too hung over, and not at all in a mood to party. He does smoke a lot at times, so maybe he's out for the count..._

On further inspection, Ironhide is missing too, which would confirm that business is being handled. Barricade's spark makes a queasy revolution, because who is he going to pick if Nitro won't show up at all tonight?

_Does it matter? You'll fuck them all eventually, just like Dreadbot says. And you weren't very keen on trying Nitro before, so why is he suddenly your savior now?_

Blackout walks through the front door, and when everyone turns to see who's coming, he raises both his servos and howls victoriously. All the brothers join in — Motormaster and Breakdown reaches over the bar to pull out glasses and bottles of high grade, pouring servings — and Barricade doesn't know what they're celebrating, but he guesses it has something to do with business.

_Or perhaps getting away from the law._

"I wonder if Cross n' Dreadie are done with Springer for tha night. It was a while since I was with him..." Jazz muses.

_Is Jazz trying to kick him into gear, or does he honestly consider trying to seduce Springer? _

It hardly matters. Barricade needs to make up his mind, even if Nitro isn't here yet. Blackout is here, and if Barricade doesn't want to get caught alone by the Helo again, he better find himself some company.


	336. Chapter 336

Jazz drags him to the bar and hands him one of the shots Breakdown and Motormaster has lined up. Barricade downs it as quickl as he can while still being at least semi-polite. It burns all the way down to his tank, but that's just welcome, showing him how strong the high grade is, with a promise of a good buzz as soon as it takes effect.

_He might need it._

"Relax, honey. I know ya really like facin', we do it a lot. Jus' try ta have a good time. It doesn' hafta be bad." Jazz says, stroking down Barricade's back-struts.

"I know..."

_It isn't bad with Hide, but that's because he's been with Hide so many times by now, it's become familiar, the new normal._

_Wonder how long it'll take you to _get familiar_ with everyone else..._

_Hopefully, he'll be out of here before this starts to feel normal._

Then he's spared from his thoughts when Ironhide walks down the stairs, Nitro Zeus following in his wake. Barricade's spark makes a nervous flip as he takes in the crude bastard, as massive as Ironhide, and no less powerful. They both come over to the bar, grabbing two shots each, downing them in rapid succession.

Barricade's spark spins wildly with nerves, and he takes a deep vent to steel himself, then he steps up to Nitro Zeus.

"Uhm, Nitro? I'm... ah, I'm supposed to..." _what the fuck is he supposed to say? Ugh, how to seduce someone you really doesn't want? But then again, how hard can it be to get this horny fragger into the sack?_ "I'm supposed to sleep with someone else tonight. I know you've been... _interested,_ so I thought we could... do it?" He can't bring himself to be more seductive, or crude.

Nitro's intake quirks, and then he rumbles a laugh. "That's officially _the_ worst pick-up line I've _ever_ heard!" He wraps an arm around Barricade's shoulders. "But that's fine, I'm not picky about those things. Let's go, _Officer_." He turns them towards the stairs.

Barricade's spark skips a revolution. 

_What if Nitro is interested in him because fucking an Enforcer is a fantasy of his? Then this could turn into a very long, and not very funny night._

Ironhide flicks Nitro's arm with a finger, and the Flier stops momentarily, getting a meaningful look from Ironhide. Something passes between the Warframes, possibly words over comm, or just a silent conversation, and then Nitro nods once, before he starts moving again.

"How come the new ones always pick you first, you underclocked drone?" Blackout asks Nitro as they pass.

"Because I've got the best equipment!" Nitro laughs, grabbing his interface plate.

"Mine's bigger than yours."

"Yeah, but I know how to use mine! And my landing gears look good too."

"Nitro would fuck himself if he could." Motormaster snickers.

"I totally would, but, you know, my _wood _is too solid! I can't bend it enough to get it inside myself." Nitro quips, complete with gestures indicating trying to get his spike into his own valve.

_Ugh, inflated ego on top of the crudeness._

Breakdown is laughing, but that may be the weed turning him into a giggling mess, because there's no way anyone thought the joke was that funny.

Nitro slides his servo down to Barricade's aft, giving it a squeeze, pulling him along up the stairs. His room isn't as far down the hallway as Hide's, and they get to a door that slides open for them way too quickly. Nitro ushers him through, and Barricade stops just inside the door, staring at the huge berth as if it's a torture device.

_This is truly it._

Nitro presses up against his back, pushing him inside to get the door to close behind them, and then he squeezes past Barricade, heading for the berth.

_He can't just stand here, looking stupid, he has to at least try to make Nitro happy with this. How hard could it be? The bastard has been horny for him since day one..._

"So... uhm... How do you want me?" It comes out a nervous squeak, not very sexy.

"I want you to sit on my face."


	337. Chapter 337

Barricade works his intake, staring at the Flier, completely stupefied. Nitro walks over to his berth, plunking down on it, and stretching out on his back.

"I beg you pardon?"

"I want you to sit on my face."

"I-I... uhm."

It's definitely not what he expected, and Barricade only has a vague idea of what Nitro is asking for.

_Surely, it isn't what he thinks it is?_

"Come here." Nitro beckons.

Barricade hesitantly walks over to the berth, just to be lifted as if he weighs nothing, "what are you doing?!" He squawks, then he's dumped kneeling over Nitro's helm. Barricade flushes, even if he hasn't even opened his panel yet.

"I'm just helping you get into position. But you need to open this," Nitro says, then he licks a line over Barricade's interface panel for emphasis, "for this to work."

"And what, exactly, is _this_?" Barricade goes for stalling, because he isn't comfortable with opening his panel with Nitro _there_, with a very close up view of his array.

"Don't tell me you haven't been licked before, because I've seen Crosshairs go down on you."

_Well, it is pretty obvious with the position what's going to happen. You're not that stupid, are you? _

_He just can't quite believe that this is what Nitro Zeus wants to do._

It takes four attempts to open his panel, because he gets ridiculously shy when he looks down to see Nitro's bright optic locked on it.

"Such a pretty little component, _Officer_." Nitro says, voice rough with static.

Then there's the confusing input of both his valve-lips being stroked — separate inputs, as if stroked with a digit each — even though Nitro's servos still are resting on Barricade's hips. 

_Is his sensors malfunctioning or something? Has he been fucked to failure?_

_You know, the only way it could feel like this... But that can't be it, can it?_

"Do you seriously have two glossas?!"

Nitro's optic quirk with what's probably a smirk, and smugness is weaving through his field.

"It's split. I have two tongue-tips. Ambidextrous."

_Fragging pit!_

Something inside Barricade pulses in time with his spark, and his valve-lips suddenly feel very heavy.

"So, how is this going to go?"

_Because certainly, Nitro isn't just going to get him off, and then send him on his merry way?_

"Here," Nitro says, grabbing Barricade's servos, pulling Barricade to tip forward slightly as he stretches his arms above his helm, "pin my wrists."

Incredulous, Barricade grabs the thick struts, pinning them to the mattress.

_Not that he could possibly pin Nitro Zeus physically._

"Now here's how it's going to work: I'm going to eat you like you've never been eaten before, and when you think I've been a good little Bot, you'll tell me _exactly_ how you want me to fuck you."


	338. Chapter 338

Nitro Zeus licks a line along Barricade's slit a couple of times, and it doesn't feel much different than with a normal glossa, but then he circles Barricade's anterior node at the same time as he slides one of the tips into Barricade's valve. The tips are slim, but tapering, so the deeper he sinks it into Barricade, the more substantial it feels, while the tip circling his node is a very accurate pinpoint.

Barricade squeezes the thick struts he's holding on to, forcing himself to not grind against Nitro's face. He can't stop himself from moaning shakily, though. His spark hiccups when the sharp denta of Nitro's mandibles graze his valve-lips, but they gently nudge his folds apart, opening him up to give Nitro better access without so much as the slight sting. 

Barricade looks down, and then he immediately looks away, because he flushes furiously when he sees Nitro's helm there. Nitro pulls his tongue out again, lapping a few broad lines with his entire glossa over Barricade's node, before starting to toy with it with both the tips working their own pattern. Barricade's charge is skyrocketing, and he's really hard pressed to not start grinding against Nitro to get more. 

Nitro slips both the tips into Barricade, a thicker penetration, tongue fucking him for a little while, mapping out all the internal nodes and sensors. Barricade is going very wet, and the next time he dares to glance down at Nitro, he sees that the fliers face is smeared with his lubricant. It make him flush again, embarrassed by how quickly he's reduced to a mewling, drooling mess. 

Nitro makes optic contact, and how one optic can manage to convey a wicked grin when his intake isn't even visible — and occupied — is unexplainable. He starts to circle Barricade's anterior node with one tip of his tongue again, the other continuing to fuck him, and Barricade is rapidly getting closer to the edge. 

He glances over his shoulder to see Nitro's spike — thick, ridged, and definitely modded since that memory Dreadbot shared — fully pressurized, weeping pre-transfluid that stains the Jet's ventral plating.

_He's getting close, and he really wants this overload. It would be so easy to just let Nitro keep going until he does, and just say that he wasn't good enough, and didn't deserve anything. But that would be very selfish, it definitely wouldn't help his case, and most of all, it would be a lie, because holy fucking pit is the mech good with his not-mouth! And he said that he'd do it any way Barricade wanted, so he won't miss out on his overload just because he stops doing this. And something thick inside him really would feel nice._

"You're such a good boy!" He moans, and then immediately he regrets it, because he has no idea _how_ he wants to be fucked by the bastard.

_Why is it this hard to have a choice?_


	339. Chapter 339

"So how do you want it, _Officer_?" Nitro purrs from between his legs, then he gives Barricade's node a more firm flick with his glossa. "If you don't mind me calling you that."

_He hasn't really thought much about that. He has been preoccupied with other things when the Flier has called him Officer; first his injuries, and then his nervousness and reluctance for this night. In a way, it could be bitter to be reminded of what he had and lost, but he's so used to be called Officer, it feels more like a nickname._

"I don't mind." He says, processor frantically trying to figure out how he wants it.

_Not on his back, it's probably too hard to reach his node like that, but he isn't very keen on being fucked from behind either. It still holds too many connotations of dominance, and degradation._

"You need to let me up..." Nitro says, wriggling under him, struggling feebly against Barricade's grip on his thick wrists-struts.

_It's kind of ridiculous, really, because Nitro could easily throw Barricade across the room, probably hard enough to leave a Praxian-shaped dent in the wall, but there he is, looking completely helpless._

Barricade's valve clenches, and suddenly he knows what he wants.

"I'm going to ride you; take my own pleasure from your frame." 

Nitro's engine whines when Barricade starts to climb off of him. He straddles Nitro's massive chest while rearranging the Flier's arms, because he won't reach to pin them above Nitro's helm when he's riding the massive Bot. When he slides back to straddle Nitro's hips, his valve leaves a trail of lubricant down the Jet's front, but Barricade isn't embarrassed by that. Not when Nitro's face is smeared with his... _Ok, maybe a little embarrassed._

He grinds against Nitro's spike, rubbing his slick folds against the impressive length, ridges stimulating his anterior node just so, and Barricade briefly considers just continuing that.

_He'd definitely overload quickly, and when Nitro shoots his load, it wouldn't be inside him, which would be nice for a change. But then again, he doesn't know for how long Nitro wants to play this game, and the cleanup may be less fun..._

Barricade tilts his hips to get the spike inside his valve, not letting go of Nitro's wrists that he's now pinning by the Jet's sides. He groans when he slowly lets the spike slip inside, savoring the way the ridges stimulate his internal nodes and sensors.

Nitro bucks up, hilting himself, and it's unclear if he really meant to, or if it is a — heh — a _hip-jerk_ reaction to the stimulation.

"Don't move!" Barricade says with the same authority he let slip into his voice whenever he apprehended someone.

"I'm sorry, Officer!" Nitro almost whines. "I didn't mean to!"


	340. Chapter 340

Barricade starts to rock back and forth, rubbing his anterior node against Nitro's pelvic plating, the thick spike in his valve stirring his insides, stimulating every single node in his valve.

Nitro is tense under him, but he obeys the order to not move, frame shuddering with the effort.

_Serves him right. Though, the Flier _has_ exceeded his expectations tonight. But he has still been an asshole far more times than he has been nice, it's only fair that he gets to struggle a bit for it._

It's just a brief thought, because Barricade can't focus on it for long. His charge is building up too quickly, and he's getting close.

Nitro Zeus makes a strained noise under him, and Barricade sees the way the flier grinds his denta.

"Don't overload before I do. I don't want to be forced to try to finish on a limp spike." He orders, speeding up his grinding.

_He still wouldn't put it past the bastard to shoot his load and leave him high and dry, and find some amusement from it. _

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Nitro pants dutifully.

Barricade's digits dig deeper into the thick struts he's holding on to, but Nitro Zeus doesn't seem to mind, if he even notices it at all. 

Barricade mewls in unadulterated pleasure as he grinds against Nitro, the lubricant drooling out of his valve making for a slick slide against the Flier's pelvic plating.

_There's something intensely erotic about taking his pleasure like this, to use the bastards frame to get off._

The way Nitro seems to enjoy it doesn't withdraw from Barricade's pleasure.

He's racing towards his overload, teetering on the precipice, when he feels Nitro going even more rigid underneath him.

"Am I allowed to overload when you do, Officer?" Nitro Zeus grinds out through clenched mandibles.

Barricade doesn't have the wherewithal to really think about the question, or the appropriate answer, doesn't even think about how easily he could be petty, and tell Nitro that he can't.

"Yes!" He hisses, still rutting against Nitro.

Then he topples over the edge, his valve contracting around Nitro's spike in one of the hardest overloads Barricade has ever had. He hears when Nitro groans, and he does notice when the Flier breaks the order to not move, and bucks up to get deeper. Nitro's spike pulses inside him, and he feels slicker and warmer, telltale signs that the mech is pumping his transfluid into Barricade's valve.

_It doesn't matter. _

Barricade's systems are falling offline one by one, even as his valve is still contracting rhythmically around the spike inside him. The Saleen feels his grip on Nitro's wrists go weak, and he keels forward to land sprawled across the Flier's broad chest-plates, but that doesn't matter either, because he's powerless to do anything about it, and he's too satisfied to really object.

Nitro bucks up one more time, hilting himself inside Barricade, and that's the last thing Barricade knows before he falls into reboot.


	341. Chapter 341

Barricade reboots, and at first he's a bit confused, because he doesn't recognize the room, but then he spots Nitro Zeus, and he remembers everything.

_Including how hard he overloaded. The bastard certainly is good._

"I made an awful mess, Officer." Nitro says, pointedly looking between Barricade's spread legs. 

He's stretched out on his back now — Nitro Zeus kneeling between his legs — and he's just about to be annoyed by Nitro being back to his usual crude grossness — and the way he has been positioned on display without being asked — when the Flier speaks again. "Do you want me to clean it up?"

There's a hungry leer in the last sentence, and Barricade's processor is still too muzzy to figure out why that is, but seriously, no matter how Nitro plans on getting the transfluid and lubricant away, it'll be nice to not be all sticky and gross.

"Yes. You made the mess, you clean it up."

Nitro's field flares smugly, and then he all but dives down between Barricade's legs. "Thank you, Sir."

"Hey, what...?"

Nitro pushes his arms under Barricade's aft to lift the Mustang's hips for better access, and then he starts to lap at Barricade's plating, licking the lubricant and transfluid from Barricade's thighs, slowly working his way towards his array.

"I'm cleaning you."

Barricade is spent, and he's fairly certain that he's not going to get aroused again — not right now, at least — but the long, slow licks are very soothing, slowly warming his frame. Nitro dips his nimble glossa between Barricade's plates to get every drop of the fluids, and it's momentary teasing touches to sensitive components, before he returns to lavish attention on the less sensitive plates again.

His array starts to feel hot again — in spite of what he thought initially — and he squirms slightly, getting impatient, because Nitro is closing in on his array, but not nearly fast enough.

"Did I do something wrong, Sir?" Nitro says, stopping his ministrations.

It only serves to make Barricade more frustrated.

"Not at all! But you're awfully slow to get done."

"I'm sorry, Officer. I just wanted to make sure I didn't miss a spot. I'll do better."

Nitro continues his work, moving more quickly towards Barricade's array, and the Saleen feels his valve-lips start to swell, throbbing heavily with increasing need. Nitro's glossa strokes his valve-lips for what seems like an eternity, before momentarily slipping over his port — a tickle that makes him jerk with surprise — and then _finally_, it slips through his slit.

Barricade groans when Nitro laps over his node once, just to return to cleaning his valve-lips again, before dipping into Barricade's valve. Nitro doesn't utilize his special feature, using his glossa as if it wasn't split, slowly sinking it deeper into Barricade, before pulling out again, and then repeating.

The langorous tongue fucking is bringing Barricade's charge up slowly, gently, in a way that doesn't bring any of the discomfort that's sometimes the result of trying to go again too soon after an overload. Barricade spreads his legs more, enjoying the lack of rush, and the slow build of his charge.


	342. Chapter 342

It takes a while, but eventually, Barricade really starts to be charged. His servo has found a place on the back of Nitro's helm somewhere along the way, and his hips are starting to twitch to rub against the Jet.

Nitro's field is an aroused mess against his, and when Barr glances down, he notices that the Flier is grinding against the mattress.

"Are you seriously rutting against the berth?"

Nitro whines an affirmative, but neither stops with the licking, nor the grinding.

_The tongue fucking is really nice, and he's reluctant to have Nitro stop just yet, but at some point — probably fairly soon — he'll want some spike._

"You better not overload. I want you to fuck me when I've had enough of this."

_He never thought he'd willingly utter those words to anyone in this house — except for Jazz — and especially not to Nitro._

_Good thing you decided to listen to the others after all._

Nitro's field flares with arousal from Barricade's half order, and that level of want is quite heady. Nitro squirms, not entirely stopping the grinding, and he starts to work more quickly with his glossa, eager to get Barricade ready to be fucked.

_So, how does he want to get fucked this time? His legs are tired from the riding, it would be comfortable to let Nitro do all the work... Not from behind, though. Even if he probably doesn't get his face smashed into the berth by Nitro, it still isn't his favorite. He's actually quite comfortable as he is right now..._

"That's enough of this. I want you to fuck me, but you have to stimulate my anterior node too. I'm comfortable like this — on my back — but I'm sure you can figure out a way to do it the way I want it."

Nitro apparently has no problems coming up with a plan. He sits back on his pedes, pulling Barricade's hips into his lap, and then he starts to circle Barricade's node with his thumb. The position is obviously not quite as comfortable as being sprawled on his back, but Nitro is too good with his servo to really let Barricade have the processor power to think, or complain, about that. 

Nitro tilts his hips, and then his spike smoothly sinks into Barricade's slick valve. Barricade's back arches of it's own accord, digits digging into the bedding, and Nitro's field trembles with satisfaction that lacks the smugness Barricade would've expected.

_The Flier's fucking getting off on pleasing him!_

_Are you going to complain about that too?_

_No! He's just... He still didn't quite expect that either._

Nitro sets a languorous pace that really is an extension of how he tongue fucked Barricade, cleverly timing the circling around Barricade's node with every thrust. It serves well to slowly build Barricade's charge even higher, and Barricade has to admit that the mech certainly knows how to drag things out, while still keeping them interesting, instead of just frustrating.


	343. Chapter 343

"Harder!" It comes out more of a mewling plea than an order, but Nitro has been keeping the same pace for quite some time, and Barricade is getting close, but he just won't be able to overload from this.

_It'll take a while, at least, and he isn't much for delayed gratification and frustration._

"Which? The fucking, or the circling?"

_Oh, right. What _did_ he mean? Either will send him over, but which will be the most effective? Or feel the best? Is 'effective' and 'best' the same? He wants to cum hard... Dammit, all these choices are so hard!_

_Easier to just spread your legs and let someone have their way? Hide makes it really good without directions, and you can just lay back — or bend over — and get it good. In all your holes._

_This _is_ good, he just needs a fragging plan._

_Heh. _Fragging_-plan._

"Both."

Nitro immediately obeys, rolling his hips to hilt himself hard over and over, gradually increasing the pressure against Barricade's node.

"Yes! Like that!" Barricade hisses when the big mech hits his node just so.

The praise makes Nitro's field squirm happily, flaring with arousal, but he doesn't falter with anything, rapidly bringing Barricade closer to the edge.

"Can I knot you, Sir?"

_Frag! He has never tried that!_

_You really should have, considering how often mechs are knotted in the memories you've seen so far._

_Shut up, it was only Crosshairs!_

_Yeah, but he got it good several times. It was just a matter of time before someone wanted it. Crosshairs seemed to like it._

_He likes everything..._

"Do you get much thicker?" Barricade pants, so close already. "I mean, I don't want to get damaged..."

_He doesn't really have much say, even if Nitro is playing at Barricade is the one in control._

It's a bit bitter to be reminded that he really isn't the one in charge.

"You feel relaxed and supple enough. You'll feel full, but it won't tear you or anything like that."

_Well, then he really can't say no._

_Admit that you're a bit curious too._

_Maybe a little?_

"Fine. Just because you've been a good Bot."

Nitro's intake quirks in what's probably his version of a wolfish grin, and he presses in deep, thrusts becoming short, almost grinding movements. He still keeps his thumb on Barricade's node — working it slower again — while Barricade is starting to feel more and more full.


	344. Chapter 344

_It's kind of a weird feeling, but not unpleasant. Just novel._

The base of Nitro's spike is thick inside him, and he can feel the head of it nudging the bolt at the entrance to his chamber, trying to get a connection. It's not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it nudges some node he wasn't even aware of having, and it's a low key pleasure, not enough in itself, but combined with the other ways he's being stimulated, it's adding another layer of pleasure. The rim of his valve is stretched around the base of Nitro's spike; thicker now, but not as thick as the bulging knot just inside his first row of calipers.

_Or the way he's feeling more and more full by the transfluid being pumped into him; all his inside nodes are stimulated with the increasing stretch._

Nitro's hips are twitching rhythmically, and the big Flier's fans are working at full capacity, but he doesn't stop the stroking of Barricade's node with his thumb, no matter how distracted he might be by his own drawn out overload.

"You're good, _such _a good Bot! Barricade whimpers, because there's no point in denying the truth, and Nitro does seem to enjoy hearing the encouragements.

Nitro answers with something — voice rough, field flaring with pleasure — but Barricade doesn't catch the words, because he's _finally_ tipping over the edge, valve throbbing heavily around the thick spike inside him, his back arching up as his entire frame goes tense. The contractions make transfluid well out around Nitro's spike, in spite of the tight fit, but Barricade is far beyond even recognizing it as something that could be embarrassing.

The second he twitches from the thumb on his node — too sensitive from his overload— Nitro stops the circling, and grabs on to Barricade's hips with both his servos, holding himself hilted deep. Barricade's frame slumps when he slowly comes down from his overload, valve still pulsing sluggishly, frame feeling strut-less.

It should've been awkward — the way he's stretched out in postcoital bliss, while Nitro is still cumming inside him — but he's just too satisfied, his systems too relaxed and sated, to even allow him to feel like that.

No, the dopey afterglow is lovely, and he allows himself to relax, even if he's technically still interfacing. Nitro doesn't seem to mind that Barricade isn't participating more actively, so why try to engage in something that may not actually make a difference?

_Don't fix it if it ain't broken._

Nitro leans forward, reaching out to stroke Barricade's shoulder-wing, a firm stroke that isn't aimed to tease. More like a massage.

"I never even got around to give these pretty components some well-deserved attention." He says, voice strained from his ongoing overload.

"There's time for that later."

_Did he actually say that? But then again, if he wants to stay the night, there probably has to be a promise of more if Nitro wants it._

_But you won't mind more of this either._

_It's better to do Nitro more than finding another mech to test drive. Who knows what the others want?_

_What if Nitro wants to swap the roles?_

"I mean, I really enjoyed what we did even without wing-play!" Barricade clarifies.

Nitro does that weird grin of his, and then he plants his servos on Barricade's wings, leaning a bit on them to effectively pin the Saleen. Barricade's spark makes a strange shudder of almost nerves, but at the same time it doesn't feel frightening or overwhelming. He isn't really more pinned than he was with Nitro's servos on his hips, just differently, and the steady pressure against his wings isn't uncomfortable, but actually almost soothing. Barricade relaxes under the big mech again, and Nitro grinds against him what little he can move, still stuck inside Barricade.


	345. Chapter 345

Eventually, Nitro Zeus's spike depressurizes, and he slips out of Barricade, followed by a rush of transfluid. The Flier stretches out next to him, looking very relaxed.

"Fuck, that was so good." He rumbles dopily.

"It was." Barricade says honestly. There's no reason to deny it.

They're silent for a while, and Barricade starts to drift off into recharge, spent as he is. He startles awake when Nitro Zeus gets up from the berth.

_Do Warframes never just allow themselves to rest lazily like other mechs? Like, just crash from exhaustion, and stay there until noon, because it's totally validated._

"I'm going to have a shower." Nitro says, and it's easy to see why, because there's quite the mess on his plating. 

"Ok..." Barricade mumbles, still on the edge of recharge, and it's not like he's going to complain about cleanliness.

Nitro slips through a door that presumably leads to the washracks, and Barricade is left alone.

_He really should have a shower too, because he's not much better off than Nitro was, even if Nitro cleaned him quite thoroughly. The knotting left an even worse mess than the first round._

And he's laying on a rather massive wet patch...

But he's also really relaxed — in that way good sex brings, where all his systems are sated, feeling almost doped up on something — and reluctant to leave the incredibly comfortable berth.

_Damn the brothers for their taste in comfortable furniture._

It doesn't take long for Barricade to nod off again, helm sinking into the plush pillows just so. He startles awake yet again when the door to the washracks shuts, not overly noisy, but enough to wake him up.

"I'm going back to the party for a while."

Barricade's spark flips, because he thought he was secure for the night.

"O-ok..." He stutters.

"You don't need to come with me. I mean, you're basically laid out from what we did, and you need your rest. Especially to keep up with another round when you're back out of recharge..."

_It could just be a lie to make Nitro look like even more of a stud to the others, even if it sounds like a nice offer, but whatever Nitro's motives are, it's a chance for him to stay here and recharge._

"I'd appreciate to recuperate a little." Barricade says, hoping Nitro will understand. "I, ah, I need to get up early tomorrow. I start working really early..." _Why does he feel stupid saying that?_

"Then you really should burrow in here and wait for me to get back." Nitro says, voice and field unreadable for secondary motivations.

"I will. Thank you..for this, and for the fucking." Barricade lays it on thick, because it can't hurt his case.

"You're welcome. See you later."

"Will do."


	346. Chapter 346

Barricade is slipping back into recharge, and he really wants to just let oblivion claim him, but the wet spot on the sheet is uncomfortable, so he forces himself to get up, dragging the sheet from the berth. He wipes himself with it — because if Nitro Zeus does come back later, itching to have another go, a shower will not give lasting results anyway — and then he dumps it on the floor.

_If Nitro has a washing machine in the washracks, he can throw the sheet in there when he has his morning shower._

Barricade's internal alarm is already set early enough to give him time to have a shower before he goes to work. He looks around, trying to figure out where Nitro has spare bedding. He doesn't want to snoop around, but changing the sheets really is the polite thing to do, may even be expected to be done by the entertainers, even though he hasn't been told to do it.

_And it's nice to not recharge on soaked sheets._

The Mustang tries a big storage chest that sits by the foot of the berth, but it's locked. He almost reels back when he opens the storage unit by the wall, because the first thing his optics meet is the barrel of a big gun. The entire shelf is full of spare parts for weapons, but also different sorts of prying tools. Barricade's spark lurches a bit.

_Does he use those for "business" reasons? Like, to _convince_ mechs and stuff?_

_He's a gang member. What do you think, that he moonlights as a dent popper?_

Barricade's optics fall on a set of law enforcement grade handcuffs, as well as some sturdy chains, and it takes him long seconds before he can tear his optics from them. Then he glances quickly sound the storage unit, but since there are no sheets there, he slams the door shut and hurries to occupy himself with looking everywhere but at the storage unit.

_He should've guessed it._

There's a cyg left on the bedside table, and Barricade grabs it, lighting it up, and taking a deep smoke to soothe his nerves. His optics fall on a drawer, built into the bedframe, and he slowly pulls it out, not knowing what to expect.

He lets out a vent he didn't realized he was holding when he finds that it's nothing more sinister than the spare bedding he was searching for, and grabs a new sheet, pulling it out from the pile. They're kind of thick and heavy, and when Barricade glances at the berth, he suddenly realized why.

_They're liquid repellant. The mattress is still dry, even after... Yeah._

_He's such a kinky bastard, but it's also a clever choice. The surface of the sheet still feels as luxurious as anything, and..._

Barricade is distracted when something tumbles from the sheet when he lifts it, landing with a heavy thud in the pile still left in the drawer. He stares at it for long seconds, scanning it too.

_A strap with a heavy buckle on it, and a slimmer strap attached at two points to form a loop. There's a metal ring around the slimmer loop too..._

The scan comes back as "leather", an organic material made of the skin of animals. Barricade makes a face, because the choice of material seems gross. He still picks the thing up, and is forced to admit that it's very soft and smooth.

He turns it over, bending it to look at the shape it will have when it's buckled, one of the holes clearly worn from the pin, and Barricade does a picture search on the data net.

The Saleen drops the thing as if it burned him, and instantly regrets looking it up the second the search results load.

_It's a collar! _

He stares at the thing, unable to unsee the pictures from his search, of mechs wearing collars, being led around...

_Maybe Nitro wears it, and Dreadbot holds on to the handle while he rides Nitro's face?_

The thought is confusingly arousing, but Barricade tries to shut that thought away, slamming the drawer shut, and quickly making the bed.

_He has work in the morning, and he really needs some rest. Especially if Nitro comes back and wants another round before the night is over. A round not involving a collar._


	347. Chapter 347

Nitro does return — high as a kite — but he doesn't ask Barricade for any more services. The Flier plunks down on the berth, drinking mid grade, eating gels straight from a huge bag, and giggling at a show on TV that's really not that funny.

According to Barricade's chronometer, it's just over an hour before he needs to get up, so he off-lines his audials, pushes he face deeper into the pillow, and goes back to recharge.

When his alarm starts blaring — much earlier than he'd like, he seriously isn't a morning mech, but there's not much he can do about it — Nitro is already gone again. Barricade grabs the sheet from the floor and is heading for the washracks when he spots a data stick with his name on it on the bedside table. He stares at it for a few moments, then he picks it up, and plugs it into the socket on his arm.

_Last night was great. I think you deserved this tip. / Nitro_

Barricade stares at the sum for long moments.

_20 credits. The same as he makes in a day at the gelery. _

He transfers it to his digital wallet, writes a thank you message to Nitro, and puts the stick back on the table for the Jet to find when he returns.

The layout of the washracks is similar to Ironhide's, but the decor is different. He finds a washer hidden behind a sliding door, along with supplies like polishes, solvents, and rags, and he throws the sheet in before stepping into the shower.

Cool water helps a little to wake him up, but he really needs the hot energon he brings in a travel mug as he walks to his job. Sure, driving would be quicker, but the cool morning air ads a little extra kick to get him going.

_Just three more days before he gets to renegotiate his contract. If he makes the cut, and he certainly is going to try his best. Hopefully, he can make a few more tips in the meantime, to boost his savings account a little more._

_Prostitution has it's advantages. _

_Shut up. It's just a means to an end. He needs to pay his rent anyway, and some pleasurable fucking isn't really something to complain about, and some extra credits in his account is a very helpful bonus._

_I rest my case._

He arrives to work a few minutes early, as always. If he wants to impress his employer, he better not be late. Barricade subspaces his mug — empty now — and walks straight to his work station. The counter is already filled with trays that need washing, since the gelers start much earlier than he does. Their work seems more fun, and he'd like to try it, but Barricade isn't sure he'd be able to do it for a living.

_He really isn't a morning mech, even if he somehow managed to get up early when he was an Enforcer._

_Could be the chemical pick me ups you used back then. Just look where that landed you..._

"Hurry up, Barricade! They're almost out of trays, and the next batch is close to ready for pouring."

Barricade grabs the sponge harder, speeding up his scrubbing, throwing a few trays into the sink to let them soak a few seconds at least, to make it easier to get them clean.

_Maybe he should come in a bit earlier to let the trays soak before he starts working? To make it easier for himself._

_Will you be able to get up even earlier when you've spent a night _earning tips_?_

_Shut up._


	348. Chapter 348

"So, how was your night with Nitro?" Jazz asks with a smirk when Barricade enters his room.

The Solstice is stretched out on his berth, as he usually is when Barricade returns from his workday. Jazz looks well rested, and he's apparently just lounging because he can, and it's comfortable, and Barricade is almost jealous, because he's tired, and his boss really pushed him today. He puts the cubes on the nightstand, taking a seat.

_At least his arms are holding up so far; no soreness or anything like that, and the heat in the components of his arms is almost gone after his walk home._

"Above expectation."

_He's not that keen on discussing Nitro right now, even if he has to admit that the mech proved to be much nicer, and better in the sack, than he ever expected._

"He licked ya, didn' he?"

"He did."

Jazz grins. "He's so skilled, and his patience ta jus' keep goin', n' goin' really is Primus sent..."

It's rare that Barricade gets jealous, even if it sometimes feels a bit odd that they sleep around this way and that, but hearing Jazz talking about how good Nitro is in the berth doesn't sit well with him, it's just too much. He doesn't say anything about it, though, because it is what it is, and there is a possibility that he's overreacting because he's tired, and a bit worried that his boss wasn't happy with his work today, and he only has two more days to show his worth...

"I'm glad I listened to your advice." He says diplomatically, because it's true, and it's all that needs to be said on the subject.

"So, what's your plan for tonight? Who are ya goin' for? Or are ya gonna try ta snare Nitro again? He certainly has been droolin' over ya for a long time, I think he'd be happy ta do a repeat performance. I mean, he let ya rest in his berth jus' so he could have ya again later."

Barricade doesn't correct Jazz's assumption of more rounds happening last night. He hasn't really thought as far ahead as tonight, with recharging, and then work, and the shower when he got back here.

_And the fetching of energon for them both, while Jazz is just lazing around because he can, and doesn't have anything he has to do until tonight._

"I don't know. I guess I'll just have to wait and see who's available." It does come out a bit testy, but on top of everything, thinking about tonight is making him a bit nervous. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. You know, I was thinking; who does the shopping, and cleaning, and stuff like that around here?"

_Maybe he could take on a few chores instead of fucking?_

_Are you considering becoming a housekeeper for a criminal gang?_

_Yes. Yes, he is. It's better than whoring, and it's just temporary anyway. Why didn't he think of this before?_

"Tha brothers clean tha 'members only' rooms, n' their own rooms, but a few of 'em sometimes ask someone of us if we can fix their rooms, n' pay us for it. Tha refuelin' room, n' tha rec room is tha in-house crew's responsibility, but everyone helps out after tha parties. We rotate cleaning the communal spaces of our wing. In-house does tha regular shoppin', but on some occasions, when we don' have time ta order, whoever can will go together. Like we did for tha last party."

_It makes sense, because it's not like they can have a cleaning service coming and going in the house, the pleasurebots are already here anyway, and he really has a hard time picturing the brothers cleaning more than just the things they want to keep private._

_Unlike their spikes, they do enjoy having those washed by someone else. Nothing private about that._

_Change of subject. Damn, he really hoped he could get away with a negotiation for some domestic services excluding the use of his valve._

"I see."

"I'm glad ya asked! Ya're finally startin' ta fit in. Most noobs ask 'bout this straight away ta become part of tha crew."

"Yeah..."


	349. Chapter 349

Barricade follows Jazz's second suggestion that night, and approaches Roadbuster. He's still a bit wary of Springer after that debacle with Blackout and Bumblebee, doesn't trust the mech, even if Jazz said that he's good to start out with.

_And Nitro is occupied elsewhere, apparently, because he's doing a no-show._

_You _could _comm him..._

_And say what? "Hey, it's Barricade. Wanna hook up?"_

_Yes._

_Nitro might think he's doing it to get more money._

_And that would be bad how?_

But he's just not _that_ straightforward about it all yet, so Barricade goes for a recommended mech who _is_ present in the rec room.

"Hi. I'm Barricade." He says awkwardly, still not certain how to go about picking mechs up like this.

"Roadbuster." The mech gives back, rather subtly looking Barricade up and down, as if he's curious, but unimpressed.

Roadbuster hasn't shown much interest in Barricade so far, and now that the Saleen is trying to pick him up, he realizes — far too late — that he probably needs much better lines than what he used for hooking Nitro when going for someone who hasn't been trying to get him into the berth from the get go.

_Fuck, even Blackout would probably have been easier. At least the snaring him part..._ _He just has no clue what Roadbuster likes, if the mech even thinks he's fraggable._

"I... I really like your stickers." He says, looking at said decals, hoping it will seem like he's checking Roadbuster out.

_Not that the mech has a bad frame or anything... He just doesn't really want to do things this way. It's a lot of pressure._

"Thanks." Roadbuster answers, the corner of his intake twitching up in half a smirk.

"Especially this one." Barricade says in a voice that he wishes was more sultry, dragging his digit along what he realizes is an etching, looking like the brothers' badges.

"Well, it _is a_ very pretty motive..." Roadbuster says, turning to show it off better.

_What the fuck is he supposed to do? What would Dreadbot or Crosshairs do?_

"Will you let me taste this?" Barricade says, sliding a digit along the custom paint that says 'Impala' on Roadbuster's chest-plates. 

_Did he just say that out loud? In the fragging rec room?!_

"Go ahead. The plating is definitely more sensitive since I got that paint job."

Barricade does it immediately, because it's not a hard thing to do.

_You really are starting to fit in._

_Shut up._


	350. Chapter 350

Barricade drags his glossa over the etching, and then he trails the cracked seams in Roadbuster's chest-plates. If it wasn't for the way he's configured behind them, it would be rather obscene. Now it's just tantalizing, showing a hint of reinforced cooling fans, and his radiator. It seems a bit impractical for a Warframe, but on the other servo, from what Barricade understands, Roadbuster isn't an MTO. And Barricade have no doubts that the format is deceiving, that the components aren't as vulnerable as they look.

"Hm, someone taught you well." Roadbuster hums, wrapping an arm around Barricade's neck, servo sliding up his shoulder-wings. "But let's go have a few drinks first. I'm nowhere near ready to turn in for the night yet." He slips his servo to Barricade's shoulder to turn him around, pulling the Saleen close to his side.

_Oh, he didn't consider that!_

"Drinks sound good."

"If you weren't just looking for a quickie to be free for other adventures later..."

_Hell no! He certainly doesn't want to try to hook up with yet another mech after the quickie!_

_Even if you may get twice the tip then..._

_It's not about the money. He has to pay his rent._

_The more savings you have, the better off you'll be._

_Not worth it._

"I'm not in a rush." Barricade concludes, following along when Roadbuster steers him towards the bar. He wraps an arm around the mech's rather slender waist after a few moments of hesitation.

_If Roadbuster wants to play this like a casual hookup, then what's he's supposed to do? Talk to him as if it's a date? What's he supposed to talk about? The weather? It's not like his life is very interesting. 'Yeah, I wash dishes, and get fucked a lot.' He's such a catch..._

::I'm about to have drinks with Roadbuster. What am I supposed to do more than drink? It's not like I have a lot to talk about, and I need to take my time.:: He opens a comm to Jazz, realizing too late what Jazz might be doing. ::I hope I'm not interrupting you...:: 

::Nah, it's a slow night, n' I'm good at doin' two things at tha same time anyway. So, is he alone, or does he have other brothers for company?::

::Alone.::

::Play coy. Say flatterin' things 'bout his frame, ask 'bout his etchings; if they hurt to do n' stuff. Make it all 'bout him, make him feel like ya're really hot for him, but a bit shy. Try ta charm him, n' then get gradually more handsy. Like, touch tha etchings ya ask 'bout, gradually gettin' closer ta his interface panel.::

_Sounds easy enough._

Barricade glances around the room, spotting Sunstreaker, Sideswipe on the couch, and Breakdown coming down the stairs from the brothers' floor.

::What if he gets company by one of the brothers?::

::Even easier. Just drape yourself over him, n' look like Primus sent him. Let tha mechs do their talking, n' just look pretty, be a little bit handsy. Like ya can't keep you hands away from him. Make sure he has fresh drinks, n' just be attentive n' cute, n' ya'll be in his berth in no time.::

_So basically be a starstruck groupie..._

::Cater to his needs, act wanton, don't interrupt. Got it.::

::Ya'll do great! Nobody is as easily flustered as you are, n' ya're so cute when ya are!:: Jazz says, sounding rather innocent.

::Shut up!:: Barricade growls playfully, in a much better mood now, on spite of... _Yeah_.

::Oh, I will! For now.:: Jazz laughs, breaking the connection.

_He can do this, it doesn't sound that hard._


	351. Chapter 351

"So, what can I get you?" Barricade asks, freeing himself from Roadbuster's grasp just to be able to get behind the bar.

"There's a good high grade there, the bottle says 'vintage starfall'. I'll take it plain.

Barricade rummages through the shelves to find it, and pulls out a cube, pouring a generous serving.

_He should seem impressed and interested in anything Roadbuster says and does._

"Is it good? I've never tried it..." He says, and he's being honest, even if he's laying on thickly with an attempt at bright opticed innocence.

Roadbuster grabs the cube, but he holds it out to Barricade in silent invitation. The Saleen stares at it for long seconds before he understands the gesture.

He grabs the cube — still hesitant and slow, but he tries a smile at the mech — and takes a sip.

It's really strong, and it burns it's way down to his tank, but at the same time, it's rich in flavor, with many interesting layers, and a rather sweet aftertaste.

"Mm, it's good." He says, and it isn't just to appease the Racer. _Warframe? Assault vehicle, maybe? _

Barricade gives the cube back, and grabs one for himself, pouring the same high grade into it. He adds a bunch of balls of frozen low grade to chill it, and to dilute it a little when they thaw, because he still thinks that it's a bit to strong.

"Do you want any snacks?"

"Nah, I'm good with this."

Barricade puts the bottle back on it's place, making a mental note to which one it is, because it can't hurt to remember what Roadbuster likes. He walks around the bar again, pulling a chair closer, moving slowly, because he's uncertain _how_ close he should be to seem eager enough, but not desperate.

_So many details to figure out, and he's not even close to a berth yet._

_Maybe you should ask the others for lessons?_

_He's not going to stay here long enough to need to be that good. Two more days, then he'll renegotiate the conditions to his real job._

_Onwards with the show then. Try to get tips in your savings account._

"So, we were talking about your mods," Barricade decides to continue where they left off, because it's the easiest way to start the conversation, "did it hurt to do them?"

Roadbuster grins slowly. "Depends on which mods you're asking about..." There's definitely a leer in his voice.

_Right, considering how he looks, he probably has mods on his finer parts too._

Barricade flushes. "Well, I can't ask about mods I haven't seen yet," he tries to sound suggestive, "so, how about your etchings?" He leans in to drag his finger along an etched pattern on Roadbuster's lower arm, flicking two optics up to meet Roadbuster's.

"That one was easy. The custom paint on my hood, though... That was a glitch and a half, both the sanding, and then the warring nanites."


	352. Chapter 352

Barricade is pouring them a third round of drinks, the one he makes for himself very low on high grade. He's already pleasantly buzzed, and even if it would be easier to do this if he was more intoxicated, he's still a lightweight when it comes to high grade, and he doesn't want to get too hammered. There's always the risk that Roadbuster won't be interested anymore if he is. And he really can't afford to be hungover when he has to go to his real job. It'll be tough enough just being tired.

_Hopefully, Roadbuster will want to go to berth soon._

"Maybe we should move to the couch?" Barricade says, brushing up against Roadbuster when he hands him a drink.

_It'll be easier to get close, and inspire some naughty thoughts._

"Alright." Roadbuster says, getting up from the chair. 

He wraps an arm around Barricade's shoulders to pull him along, and Barricade slides his servo across the small of Roadbuster's back, not daring to squeeze the mech's aft. He rests his servo on Roadbuster's hip instead, hoping that the tips of his digits against the mech's ventral plating will be enough. 

They can't really sit like that, so Barricade untangled himself, and curls up next to Roadbuster, daring to put one leg across Roadbuster's, resting his helm on the mech's shoulder. He touches the sticker on the Assault vehicle's ventral plating.

"Do you have topcoat over this, or is it a custom paint job too?"

"Topcoat to seal it. I plan on getting it done properly as a paint job, but I want Sunny to do it, and he has been busy."

"It looks good like this too."

Roadbuster's digits slip down Barricade's back-struts in a way that makes him shiver with pleasure. The servo continue down to his aft, the digits stroking over his port panel, and then grazing his valve cover, but the servo continue to the back of his thigh.

"So, how about you? Any etchings or stickers I haven't noticed?"

"No, I... Everything custom vanished with my last repaint." Barricade mumbles.

_The repaint he got when he left prison. He got the colors, but of course none of the service signs, it the precinct shields._

"Any other mods?" There's a bit of a leer in Roadbuster's voice.

Barricade is about to say 'no', bit then he remembers that he actually has a mod, and he almost flushes when he thinks about what mod he has.

"Only functional so far, nothing visible."

"Well, you have to start somewhere..." Roadbuster says, groping Barricade's aft again.


	353. Chapter 353

Roadbuster has pulled him into his lap, and Barricade is straddling his thighs, feeling awkward again.

_Should he kiss him, or what is he supposed to do? Or maybe the brothers think that's ridiculous, and not something they really do in public?_

Roadbuster's optics are locked on his chest-plates, though, so Barricade sticks his chest out a bit.

"See anything you like?" He tries to purr, smiling at the mech.

"Is this sensitive?" Roadbuster asks, grabbing Barricade's crash bar.

"Not really..." He says, then he instantly regrets it.

_Should he have pretended it is? If it's a part Roadbuster wants to toy with, should he just pretend that it's the best thing that has ever happened?_

"So, it could be used as a handle without it being painful?" 

"I guess..."

Roadbuster grabs it roughly, and pulls Barricade forward, making the Saleen's spark flip over nervously.

"This feels okay?"

"...yes?"

"Good to know." Roadbuster lets go of the crash bar, circling Barricade's headlight with his thumb instead, his other servo caressing Barricade's aft.

Barricade's frame starts heating up, the touches enough to slowly build some arousal. He knows that he has to reciprocate in some way, so he leans forward, nipping at Roadbuster's neck-cables, sliding his servos down the mech's sides, hoping that it'll do.

"Open up." Roadbuster says, fiddling with his interface panel.

He really doesn't want to do that, not here, where everyone can see, and he knows that he can say _no_, but if he does that now, he needs to find different company for the night, and he has already invested a lot of time into trying to get Roadbuster into berth. If he has to start over, he seriously is at risk of not getting any recharge at all. Barricade glances around the room.

_And the only mechs present are Sunstreaker, and Blackout, and considering Sunny's predilection, he could still be out cold when it's time to leave for work, and everything will be ruined. And he really wants to avoid Blackout if he can._

"Here? I mean, anyone can see..." He gives Roadbuster a shy smile.

Roadbuster smirks. "Yeah, but not many mechs are around. And since you don't have any visible mods, I guarantee that it isn't anything they haven't already seen." 

He slips his digits into the seam of Barricade's interface plate, feeling around for the latches, and Barricade sees no option but to open. The panel slides away, and Roadbuster's fingers are there immediately, exploring his puffy valve-lips, and slick folds.

_At least the fooling around they've been doing has made him aroused. That has to be good._

Two digits slide inside him, and it feels so strange to let someone he hardly knows do that. Barricade works his thumbs over the plating surrounding Roadbuster's spike cover, still hesitant about just going for touching.

"Sit back a bit."

Barricade stops what he's doing, spark speeding up nervously.

_Did he do something wrong?_

"Touch yourself. I want a bit of a show."


	354. Chapter 354

The request is simple enough, but doing it is not. But it's not like Barricade has a heap of options, so he hesitantly reaches between his legs, feeling his puffy valve-lips, and the lubricant Roadbuster smeared when he felt around down there. 

Barricade circles his node, and while he's fairly certain that this is one of the least entertaining shows ever put on in this house, he's at a loss, because he just doesn't know what else to do. Roadbuster can't even see all that much from his angle...

Dreadbot and Crosshairs would probably get on the table or something, but he just can't bring himself to such a blatant display, especially not since they're not alone in the room.

Instead, he sticks his chest-plates out again, circling one of his headlights with his digits.

"So, what do you want to see?" He asks before he can lose his nerve, plastering on a smile.

"This is good enough for now, just keep it up."

Roadbuster sips his drink, and seems to enjoy the show on spite of Barricade's inexperience, optics locked between Barricade's legs. It's embarrassing to have someone watch something so private — something he actually doesn't even do in private — but the stimulation still feels good, and Barricade's charge rises, lubricant slowly coating his servo.

_Face-sitting certainly beats this, though..._

"Should I overload, or do you want me to save that for you?"

_What a fucking thing to ask about._

"Can't you overload more than once?"

"Not right after each other, but with a bit of time between..."

"I'm not in a rush. I want to see you make yourself cum."

Sure, his charge is rising, but not quickly enough for Barricade's liking. Not when he has someone watching him do this. He really wants to get there, to get this over with, but his frame doesn't cooperate.

_Maybe he can fake it? Moan and buck with increasing intensity, and then wail a bit when he 'overloads'?_

He decides against it, though, because he isn't sure he could pull it off, and Roadbuster might not enjoy an attempt at trickery.

_If only he had a vibrator right now, because he's having such a hard time finding a good spot on his node, it's as if most of it isn't sensitive enough, and when he does manage to hit a good spot repeatedly, it's almost like it gets numbed. Maybe it's just his nerves, and the entire situation, that makes it hard to get into it?_

He still pushes on, trying to conjure up a fantasy that will help arouse him, but it's impossible to pretend that he's putting on a show for Jazz when he's sitting in Roadbuster's lap, and offlining his optics seems like a very rude thing to do.

_Not that he would really feel sexy doing this for Jazz either. He just feels ridiculous._

Eventually, he manages to overload, bucking into his own servo, a low moan leaving his vocalizer. Not much of a show, but the overload was shallow and not very satisfying, and it's kind of pitiable that this is what he can do for himself, while Nitro of all mechs can fuck him into reboot.

_Hey, that's a pitch..._

"Sorry I'm not better at this, but I prefer to be fucked well by a hot mech..." He smiles at Roadbuster. "My servos feel like a bad surrogate when I'm sitting in the lap of a gorgeous mech.

Roadbuster's engine revs.

_Bingo._


	355. Chapter 355

They fool around some more, if that's what it's called when they're basically feeling each other up, and Barricade nipping at Roadbuster's neck-cables. 

_If he was just a little more drunk, this could actually be quite enjoyable. Roadbuster is good with his servos, and with some more intoxicants, he may have been able to tune out that there are others present, and that this is just a business transaction. But alas, he has work tomorrow, so he really can't drink more right now._

Barricade has at least found the courage to rub his servo over Roadbuster's still closed interface panel, because he needs to get them moving to the berth room soon, if he's going to have any chance at all to get enough recharge.

_Nitro was actually quite nice to let him have his berth like that when they were done._

"Let's go to my room." Roadbuster groans when Barricade bites just a little harder on a cable that gets the mech's engine growl a little louder. "If you don't prefer to continue here..."

"Your room sounds nice." 

_Sounds like the only option in his opinion._

"As you wish." Roadbuster says, patting Barricade's aft to urge him to move from his lap.

Roadbuster wraps an arm around Barricade's shoulders, and the Saleen tucks himself into the mech's side to seem eager, following along up the stairs.

_How odd that he's doing this walk now, the one he has seen so many do; up the stairs, pressed against one of the brothers, seemingly lusting for the bastards. Is this the way all of them feel when they do this?_

They're almost halfway up the stairs before he realizes that his panel is still open.

_You really are starting to fit in; walking around naked like the other pleasurebots. But then again, you may get good tips for that, so there's that..._

_Shut up._

He doesn't close his panel, though, because he doesn't want to seem reluctant now that he finally seems to have landed himself a berth for the night.

Barricade glances over the railing, looking out over the rec room, and he catches the way Blackout is looking at him. He stifles a shudder, quickly breaking optic contact, because holding the Helicopter's attention doesn't seem promising for his upcoming nights.

_He just has to keep away for one more night, then he can renegotiate his contract, and find a recharge cubicle to rent until he finds an apartment._

Barricade hurriedly looks back to Roadbuster, giving the mech a shaky smile. Roadbuster doesn't seem to notice his hesitance, or he doesn't care. He just leads Barricade to his room, the door sliding shut behind them.

Barricade has time enough to notice the difference from Ironhide's room; the color scheme is more optic catching, bordering on gaudy, and it's a bit messy, with things strewn around.

Then he's pushed towards the berth, stumbling with the force behind it, landing face down on the plush mattress.


	356. Chapter 356

Barricade's spark speeds up with nerves when Roadbuster is immediately on him, crawling up his frame to straddle his aft.

He feels trapped, but at the same time, the position isn't really alarming. A servo slides down his aft, digits finding his slick valve, and Roadbuster pumps his digits into Barricade.

"Fuck, yeah! So wet..." Roadbuster groans.

_What the fuck is he supposed to do? It's not like he can reciprocate much from here..._

"Yes, I'm so horny..." Barricade mumbles into the bedding, and it's not a lie, even if he's not _that_ aroused.

"I'll give you what you need..." Roadbuster growls, scooting backwards again.

Barricade's wrists-struts are grabbed, and his legs are nudged apart. Roadbuster gathers Barricade's wrists in one servo, hiking the Saleen's hips up with his other hand, and then he slides inside to the hilt in one go.

_Not really his favorite position, but at least he doesn't need much acting skills with his face-plates in the bedding..._

Roadbuster's spike is nice though, and while Barricade didn't get a look at it before the fucking started, he can definitely tell that there's some ridge or something that's rubbing against that really good spot inside him with every thrust. He's actually heating up quite quickly. Then Roadbuster makes better use of the servo he initially wrapped around Barricade's hip, by reaching around to circle Barricade's anterior node with one digit.

The frame exploration they engaged in before they went upstairs already had him running a light charge, and with the really nice stimulation he's getting, Barricade is going slicker and more aroused by the second.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" Roadbuster groans.

"Oh, yes! Barricade mewls, and it's not an exaggeration.

"So fragging wet and warm, I could stay inside you for the entire night. Would you like that?"

"Please, _more_!" Barricade mewls.

He'd prefer to get some recharge before work, but if Roadbuster wants to hear how much Barricade is enjoying this, it's an easy request to fill, and hopefully a quick way to get the mech to overload.

_And if it wasn't for his need to get up so damned early, he would probably enjoy this even more, and he wouldn't feel so stressed about the hour getting late._

"That's what I thought."

With the way Roadbuster's spike is repeatedly rubbing against that sensitive spot inside him, and the skilled stimulation of his node, Barricade is racing towards the edge.

Roadbuster seems to be getting close to an overload too, apparently more revved up than he let on before they went to his room. Barricade can't do much, but he tries to arch his back to meet Roadbuster.

It makes the ridge on Roadbuster's spike hit that spot just _so_, and Barricade overloads rather suddenly, biting into the mattress, wriggling his hips at the intensity.

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that." Roadbuster grunts before pressing in deep, spike pulsing with his own overload.


	357. Chapter 357

Barricade slowly sinks down to stretch out on his front, frame lax. Roadbuster's softening spike slips out of him, and transfluid dribbles out in it's wake, but Barricade knows the feeling too well to be embarrassed or disgusted by it, and he's too spent to care.

"Fuck, that was good!" Roadbuster groans, sprawled on top of Barricade.

"Yeah." Barricade murmurs.

_It kind of was. It definitely could've been worse. Jazz was right about Roadbuster knowing how to use his equipment, and even if he didn't really enjoy the dirty talk, at least it wasn't something that turned him off, nothing degrading._

"Do you have a mod on your spike or something?" He asks, partially to not seem disinterested, but mostly because he's certain that Roadbuster has some feature to enhance his performance, and he is a little curious.

Lip-plates curve against his neck-cables.

"I do..."

Roadbuster rolls off him, and Barricade turns around to have a look. The Assault vehicle's spike is depressurized and soft, but it's impossible to not notice the rod piercing the head of it, tiny metal balls adorning the ends.

_Perfectly placed to stimulate that sensitive spot inside his valve._

"Did it hurt to do it?" Barricade asks curiously, because it's kind of intriguing.

"Like a carrierfucker, but then it got crazy sensitive almost immediately. Spent the first evening lightly nudging it, because it was almost as good as any fucking I'd ever had, in spite of the soreness, such an intense feeling. Then everything caught up, and the next days were pure hell. Could hardly keep my panel closed, and just let it hang out as much as possible. It got better when it healed, though, and now it's certainly enjoyable. Totally worth it in the end."

There's ridiculous points there, like Roadbuster walking around with his sore spike hanging out, or the first night tugging at it, but what's even more intriguing is the information about the heightened sensitivity.

_He always thought piercings were a rebellion, a way to shock others, or perhaps a way to get attention for how kinky the wearer was; a blatant display of some sort he couldn't quite understand. That it might enhance the experience for at least one, and possibly both partners was beyond his grasp._

"It did hit a nice spot inside me." Because it can never be wrong to compliment skills/components.

"Yeah, I chose the placement carefully for maximum effect." Roadbuster smirks, and grabs the rod, toying with it. "Here, try playing with it." He tilts his hips to get closer to Barricade.

The Saleen hesitantly reaches out and touches the thing, grabbing it like Roadbuster held it. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not if you're not planning on fucking pulling it or something. Ah, yeah, like that." The last part is a groan, brought about Barricade circling his thumb around the ball at the end of the rod, caressing the head of Roadbuster's spike in the same movement. "Keep doing that."


	358. Chapter 358

Barricade toys with the piercing, and Roadbuster's spike is slowly getting harder.

"Could you lick it for me?"

_Definitely not his favorite thing to do, but what can he do about that? The quicker he gets Roadbuster off, the quicker he will get to recharge, since the mech is clearly rearing for another go._

Barricade doesn't answer, he just curls his frame to reach, sticking his glossa out to drag it over the head of Roadbuster's spike, twirling it around the piercing. The spike instantly goes rock hard, twitching under his ministrations.

"Damn, you're great at that!" Roadbuster groans. "Look at me while you lick it."

_Why do they always seem to want that? It just feels degrading._

_Remember how powerful _you _felt with a whore on his knees in front of you, lip-plates wrapped around your cock, optics looking up at you?_

_Ugh. Yeah... That has lost some of the enticing veneer since he started to see it from the other point of view._

He obediently flicks his optics up to meet Roadbuster's, continuing to slowly lap at the head of his spike, glossa circling the piercing every time he passes it.

"So fucking hot."

Pre-transfluid is starting to leak from Roadbuster's spike, and Barricade laps it up.

_Hopefully, Roadbuster won't just shoot the load across his face without a warning..._

The mech squirms a bit, lifting his hips, and Barricade takes it as an urging to take more. He sucks the spike into his intake, which earns him a pleased groan.

"Get up here, or I'll shoot my load way too soon."

Barricade crawls up Roadbuster's frame, thinking he'll be asked to ride him, but then his crash bar is grabbed, and he's rolled onto his back. Roadbuster slips his arms under Barricade's thighs and lifts, curling Barricade's back into a rather helpless position, then he hilts himself inside the Saleen. Remaining lubricant and transfluid makes the slide slick, and Barricade is already loose from their earlier round.

It's not very comfortable to be folded like that, but it doesn't hurt, and Roadbuster starts to fuck him with a rather rough rhythm, slamming into Barricade's ceiling node with every thrust.

Barricade mewls, because it's a very intense feeling, but it feels kind of good, and his charge is rising surprisingly quickly, considering it wasn't long since his last overload.

_Hopefully Roadbuster is getting there as quickly as he is._


	359. Chapter 359

Barricade overloads hard, but Roadbuster keeps his rhythm, making the Saleen squirm, because he's overly sensitive, and the intense way Roadbuster's spike is hitting nodes inside him is too much. He doesn't want to ask for a respite, and prolong the fucking, but it's just too much.

"I, ah, I... please, I need a break, it is too intense!" He groans, trying to squirm away. "My valve is all oversensitive."

Roadbuster stops mid thrust, looking down at where they are joined as if contemplating something.

"I can suck your spike again for a while, my sensors just need to cool off a little." Barricade adds hurriedly when he realizes that Roadbuster could be thinking about fucking him in the ass instead.

_Sure, he has a mod that makes it feel alright, but he just doesn't want to do that if he can avoid it._

"Sounds good." Roadbuster says, shrugging.

He pulls out, and drops Barricade back on the berth, standing on his knees. Barricade hesitates, because he's expecting Roadbuster to sit back or something, but he just doesn't.

"On all fours..." Roadbuster says, making a circling motion with his digit to indicate that Barricade should turn around.

It's a weird request, but Barricade crawls around on all fours, stretching his neck to suck Roadbuster's bobbing spike into his intake. Roadbuster's servo immediately is placed on the back of his helm, and then he starts to fuck Barricade's intake. Luckily, Roadbuster's spike isn't as massive as Ironhide's, or Nitro's, or it would've been very uncomfortable. Barricade tries to relax his throat tubing, but it's hard, and it's probably not the best position to learn it in. Roadbuster's piercing doesn't help either, scraping the roof of his mouth, and teasing the gag reflex at the back of his throat. 

_Hopefully, Roadbuster will want to continue fucking his valve soon, and his sensors better cool off quickly._

"Oh, yeah, this is so good." Roadbuster groans, rutting into Barricade's mouth.

_At least you don't need to do much work._

Roadbuster grabs Barricade's shoulder-wing with one servo, using it for leverage when he thrusts into Barricade's mouth, getting deeper this time. Barricade stifles a shudder when it teases his gag reflex again, digging his fingers into the bedding.

Roadbuster thrusts a few more times before he pulls out, the head of his spike painting a smear of pre-transfluid and oral lubricant across Barricade's face when it slips free.

"Turn around. Your sensors must be fine by now."

Barricade hurries to obey, eager to not be fucked more in his mouth.

_He'll just deal with it if his nodes still are oversensitive._

Roadbuster grabs his shoulder-wing, and his crash bar, pulling Barricade back to hilt himself as soon as Barricade is in front of him. He pulls Barricade into his lap, holding the Saleen up with his strong grips, and then he guides Barricade up and down along his shaft, and Barricade is relieved to find that he's not oversensitive anymore, but not sore either, and the remaining slickness is more than enough.

_It actually feels good again._


	360. Chapter 360

"I'll cum... Touch yourself if you want to overload." Roadbuster groans, pounding into Barricade.

Barricade is close again, and he doesn't want to miss out on the overload, so he reaches between his legs, and starts to circle his anterior node. Roadbuster presses in deep when he overloads, and for long moments, Barricade thinks that he won't make it before the other is finished, but then he tips over too, wailing loudly.

Roadbuster allows him to fall forward and stretch out on the berth, and then he plunks down next to Barricade. He grabs a couple of rags from a box under the berth, and hands one to Barricade, using the other to wipe his spike, and his sticky crotch plating.

"I don't care about the bedding, I'm spent and don't want to get up." Roadbuster says, indicating the wet patches.

_Sleeping in a dry, clean berth is nice, but he would rather get to the recharging quickly._

"Fine by me. I can change it before I go if you're not still in recharge." He offers, because even if he doesn't get to do it, it probably can't hurt to show that he intends to clean up after them both.

_Even if it seems a bit ridiculous that it should be the whore's who clean up._

"Good, good." 

"I don't know if you're aware of my job? I get up early..."

"Yes, I heard something about that. Isn't it hard to be forced to get up early every day, when you play most of the night?"

_Play. More like a different job than play. But the brothers probably see it all as fun and games..._

"It is, but I want to do things right, want to work my way up."

Roadbuster makes a contemplative noise. "That's exemplary of you, and I guess a very admirable persuasion, but the system doesn't really reward hard work in many instances. Sure, there are always the inspirational stories of mechs coming from nothing and making it big, but for every story like that, there's always millions of mechs who struggle and suffer while the profit goes to someone else."

_Deep post coital discussions with a customer when he needs to be sleeping. Who would've thought..._

"I've done it once, and I'll try again."

"Oh, it's not impossible! Absolutely not. I'm just saying, that when mechs are in certain positions, they're easy to exploit, and a lot of employers capitalize from it."

_Like employing desperate mechs as whores?_

"I'm sure they do. I'll be careful."

"Well, at least you have your heritage working for you, with a civilian frame and all. Being sparked doesn't help much when you're half Warframe, let me tell you that."

_He never really considering that, because it always felt like he came from the bottom of the fuel chain, and he never worked in a precinct where Warframes were a regular occurrence. Maybe he should read up on the laws, and the general biases to learn more?_

"But let's talk about something more interesting. You said you have a mod that isn't visible. Care to share what you have?" Roadbuster leers lazily.


	361. Chapter 361

"I... I have a functional mod for the control protocols of my port." Barricade mumbles.

A digit slips into his slick valve to gather some lubricant, and then it's pushed into his aft.

"Like what Crosshairs, and Dreadbot, and a few of the others have?"

"Yeah..."

"That's a good one."

The digit is pumped into him a couple of times, and Barricade activates the protocols, loosening up to more easily accommodate the finger in spite of the inadequate slickness.

_There goes his recharge..._

"Too bad I didn't ask before. It'll be a while before I'll be ready for another round." Roadbuster laments, pulling his digit out.

Barricade is relieved, but he tries to keep it out of his field, at least.

"Such a shame. Maybe next time?" Barricade manages to sound pretty sincere.

_Except there will be no next time. He'll be out of here the day after tomorrow, and he's definitely going to try to get Hide or Nitro for his last night here. No need to fuck around with more mechs than necessary, and he knows what he gets with those two._

_Yeah, you like them big, bad Bots..._

_Shut up. He just doesn't want to get around more, and while Roadbuster has given him his share of overloads, Nitro's glossa seems like an adequate way to end this collaboration on a positive note._

Roadbuster makes an unintelligible noise, servo stroking up and down Barricade's hip.

"You know what, open up." Roadbuster says, tapping Barricade's port with the tip of his digit twice, which would've been much more striking if the opening had clenched to let the digit bounce against it, instead of half inviting it in by giving way to allow entrance.

"What?"

"I was thinking that if you gape wide open, I can get my spike inside, and then you close up a bit to hold it in there. It'll be kind of interesting to see if we fall asleep before I get hard again, don't you think?"

_Not really._

"We could try..."

There's something utterly degrading about opening up without anything physically prying him open, but it's easily done with the new protocols, and then he feels when Roadbuster steers his soft spike right before pressing in as deep as he can, pelvic plating pressed against Barricade's aft.

"You can close up now."

"Tell me when the pressure is right..."

_Ugh._

Barricade slowly tightens his port around the spike, the increasing pressure teasing his sensors.

"Ah, yeah, that's so good..." Roadbuster groans.

Barricade stops, and the pressure and lack of lubricant is perfect for keeping the spike inside him. Roadbuster wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his face into Barricade's neck.

"This is nice.. don't be offended if I fall into recharge. You're very cuddle friendly. And either my dick slips out, or I'm gonna wake you up in a rather spectacular way, it'll be a fun little experiment."

_Hopefully, it'll slip out._


	362. Chapter 362

At least the mod is good for allowing him to fall asleep with a cock in his ass.

Barricade realizes this when he's rebooted before his alarm by an alert in his HUD.

_The intrusion in his port has gotten bigger, and the sensors are alerting him about the increased girth. Does he want to adjust the settings?_

Roadbuster stirs, pressing closer with a groan.

"You awake?"

"... yeah..."

"Fuck, you're so tight and warm..." Roadbuster grunts, starting to move his hips without any real rhythm or apparent plan.

"I'm, ah, I'm not... We haven't used any lube..."

_He certainly doesn't want to be fucked dry, and have massive soreness to deal with on top of his wearing day job, and lack of sleep._

"Right. So, could you clench repeatedly or something? I don't want to pull out right now, it feels so fucking good."

"I guess I could..."

Barricade fiddles around with the settings, which is proving to be a rather advanced task when waken up at an unprimely hour. He finally gets it right, and manages to set a rhythmical contraction to squeeze the spike inside him.

_Maybe he could let the program control it all, and he could go back to recharge? Or would the program cycle down to some sort of standby? Alerting him of an intrusion is probably a far less advanced function to program than automatically working a spike..._

He doesn't get around to look through the options, because Roadbuster starts fiddling with his anterior node, and if the mech wants him to get into it, then it's not an option anyway.

In spite of being tired, and wanting to go back to sleep, Barricade does start to heat up. Roadbuster is clever with his digits, and everytime Barricade's calipers clench around the spike in his port, the sensors inside are stimulated. His valve is getting slick, and Roadbuster takes advantage of that by swiping his digits through his wet slit to gather lubricant. The glide of the wet digits over his node makes Barricade gasp quietly, charge rising.

It's oddly low-key to fuck like this; not much movement — a general lack of action, really — but it just makes it more intense, because there's no distractions from what his sensors are registering.

Roadbuster bites his shoulder-wing lightly when he overloads, and it sends Barricade over the edge too. They come down from their overloads still cuddled up, and Barricade contemplates going back to recharge, because he's more comfortable than he'd like to admit. Roadbuster's spike has slipped free, what transfluid left inside Barricade isn't really noticeable, and the berth is the perfect temperature and softness. But alas, he'll just have time to fall into deeper recharge just before his alarm blares, and it'll leave him even more exhausted and cranky.

"I'm getting up. I have to go to work soon, and I want a shower and some energon..."

"Aaw, but you're so cuddle friendly!" Roadbuster whines dopily, sounding halfway into recharge. "Go, it's fine! I'll leave the tip on the nightstand." He dismisses Barricade, fiddling clumsily with a memory stick and one of his data sockets, before tossing the stick on the bedside table, and cuddling deeper into the bedding.

Barricade is more than a little jealous when he slips into the washracks, and Roadbuster is already fast asleep again.


	363. Chapter 363

_33 credits._

Barricade leans against the counter for a minute, sipping his hot energon, because he isn't expected at work for another three quarters of an hour, and he can take a few minutes to get himself started up, short on sleep as he is.

_It's more than he makes in a day. More than Nitro paid him, and he thought the Flier was generous. Though, Roadbuster did require some more effort._

He sips his energon, enjoying the stillness of the morning. Nobody is up yet, which is kind of interesting, since at least Hide seems to be an early bird, and Nitro did leave before Barricade got up the night they spent parts of together. Though whatever the brothers consider work probably happens whenever it suits them, which may vary greatly.

_Like working shifts, except controlling their own work hours. Roadbuster certainly had the pillow wedged deeply in his audial, still in sound recharge, when he left._

Barricade sips his energon for a few more minutes, repeatedly looking at the sum added to his digital wallet. He's still waiting for his first paycheck, so what he earns honestly is just a number in his processor, while the tips are a number in his account.

But staring at the money won't make him more, so he tops up his cup, and then he walks out of the quiet house, the gravelly ground metal crunching under his pedes as he walks towards the gate that opens for his signature. Somewhere in the house, there's definitely someone on watch duty who stirs as the gates open, woken by the notification that he's leaving, and he sends a text to Nitro about his whereabouts, even if the Flier already knows his routine. The mechs he disturbs are probably back in recharge in a matter of minutes — if they're not already up — while Barricade walks down the street, shivering from the cold morning air.

He reaches the gelery, and walks into the stuffy heat, drawing a deep invent to smell the delectable goods in various stages of cooking, and he finishes his beverage, putting the cup on the shelf where the employees can store their personal items until their shift is done.

"You're early." The manager says, looking questioningly at Barricade.

"Yeah, I was... Uhm, I was already up..."

"You're not getting overtime for it."

"No, no, I wasn't expecting it either..." Barricade says, still putting the stack of dirty trays in the sink, starting to fill it with warm water."

"Good."

For once, the mech seems satisfied with something Barricade does, and it's such a relief, when he's so close to his negotiation, Barricade doesn't even reflect on how the mech could've just let him push his hours and went home a little earlier to keep his hour count in balance with his pay.


	364. Chapter 364

Soaking the trays does help a bit, but Barricade is finding it hard to be patient with waiting for them to soak for long enough. He's just too afraid to fall behind, and so he starts scrubbing, even if his official work hours haven't started yet.

The morning pass slowly, and he finds his optics dimming on several occasions, almost making him miss spots on the trays at a couple of occasions.

When he puts the last moulds in the drying rack, just a couple of minutes after the end of his shift, he's so relieved, he could almost fall to his knees.

_Just one more day before the negotiation. This will be so much easier when he isn't kept up all night. Now, he's just going to go home, down a cube, and he'll cuddle up to Jazz and recharge until he really has to get up.. maybe Jazz will let him stay in his berth for a while even after Jazz leaves? The brothers are kind of night owls, he could probably wait with showing up until the evening is getting later without any problems._

"You really look like shit, Barricade." Tailgate says as he walks by, mopping the floor.

"Thank you." Barricade says sarcastically.

"No, I mean, it really looks like you need some rest. Nothing wrong with being tired if you work hard." The little cleaner backpedals. "Do you have another job too?"

_It's a valid question, because Barricade is the only one working part-time here, and even if it's hard to do dishes when it's not your real function, he shouldn't be this worn out from just four hours._

"Yes. I do."

"So...? Is it also doing dishes?"

"I... Sometimes. I do, eh, household chores, so whatever needs to be done at the moment. But I get a lot of strange work hours to fit my employer's non-existent schedule."

"Oof, sounds tough. Well, I'm not going to keep you then, and ruin your chances for a nap. See you tomorrow!"

"You have a good one." Barricade says, feeling his intake quirk into a smile, because Tailgate seems so genuinely friendly.

He grabs his cup, and walks home, taking a quick shower, before grabbing a couple of cubes, heading for Jazz's room, as he always do. He texts Nitro that he's home, and is going to rest before he starts working tonight, because subtly putting ideas in Nitro's processor may get the Flier to show up for a reprise. He receives an answer with a string of emoticons that's decidedly lewd, even if he doesn't even know half the symbols, since they probably depict things the brothers have seen when off world.

Jazz's door slides open for him, and Barricade almost startles when he enters, and his optics track movement to the right.

Bumblebee is sitting in the chair, an empty cube in his servo. 

"Hello." Bumblebee uses a recording to greet Barricade.

"Hi, Bumblebee." Barricade says, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "I didn't expect you, so I didn't bring you a cube... Do you want one of these? I can go get another one..." He offers, both because he doesn't want to be rude — especially not after... yeah — but also because it would give him a reason to leave, and gather himself before coming back.

Bumblebee waves his servo dismissively, and shakes his helm, holding up his empty cube. "I'm on a diet." A different voice comes from his speaker.

Barricade works his intake, flabbergasted, while his optics trail Bumblebee's sleek frame.

"It was a joke, babe!" Jazz giggles, patting the bedding in invitation.

Bumblebee shakes with silent laughter.

"I...oh." Barricade takes a seat, and Jazz distracts him with a kiss while nabbing one of the cubes.

"Hello, babe." Jazz smiles against Barricade's lip-plates.

Bumblebee plays a sound clip from some show, where an entire audience says "aaw."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that Nitro sent a bunch of corncobs, and donuts, and a tongue out mouth and other alien smileys.


	365. Chapter 365

::I'm going to leave you two love birds alone. You're so cute, my denta are rotting.:: Bumblebee comms them both, getting up from the chair.

Barricade is relieved, because he has no idea what to say to Bumblebee. Smalltalk just feels awkward after what happened at the party, shallow and forced.

"So, how was work?" Jazz asks, sipping from his cube, before putting it on the floor to wrap his arms around Barricade's waist.

Barricade makes a non-committal noise, because it isn't fun, or fulfilling in any way. "It was work, but it is a job, at least..."

"Ya make it sound so borin'."

"Well, it's dishwashing. It's not like it's fun, but, like I said, it's a job. I earn credits."

"Ya do here now too." Jazz says into his side. 

"Yes. It's good to get some extra into my savings account."

"I bet it is."

"I'll need it when I find an apartment." Barricade says, spark spinning nervously, because it's the first time they really talk about this.

"Wut?" Jazz says, sitting up from his cuddly position.

"I plan to move out. You know I've been looking for a job to be able to pay rent..." Barricade says, fiddling with his cube.

"Yeah, but I thought ya'd gotten over that!"

"Gotten over not wanting to be forced to sleep with mechs?"

"I know ya have your hang-ups 'bout that, but I thought ya'd get used ta it... I mean, with all tha benefits we get here n' such..."

"Not yet. I want my frame to be exclusive for someone special. For you..."

"That's sweet." Jazz's voice still sounds rather flat when he says it. "But then we won't live tagether anymore."

"My work is close by, I'll find somewhere to live around here somewhere. You can come visit me in the afternoon, when I get home."

"I guess..."

_It won't exactly be like their afternoons together now, because he probably will need to exercise restraint when shopping for energon, and he probably won't be able to get furniture right away, but at least, it'll be his own place._

"My renegotiation is tomorrow, so please cross your digits for me?"

"Yeah, I hope ya can get a deal ya can accept."


	366. Chapter 366

"I just want to not be dependent on someone else. I haven't been free like that since before prison, and I just want to really enjoy my freedom without obligations to all these mechs." Barricade tries to explain, stretching out beside Jazz after he has downed his energon.

"Yeah..." Jazz says thoughtfully. "I think I understand what ya're lookin' for, but I just don' see any perks with it. I mean, I sort of had that, well, before ya went to prison, but there's always a catch. There were tha times I went hungry, because a customer decided not ta pay, n' tha nights I couldn' afford a room until tha mornin' after. Ya'll be reliant on your boss, he could jus' decide ya're not workin' fast enough, or tha business will drop, n' ya're out of work."

"But that's the same for all mecha."

"Sure, but that doesn' mean that it's right, or a good way ta live. But ya do what ya want." Jazz says, shrugging. "It's jus' that we can really be tagether here, n' see each other a lot..."

"We'll make it work, and find the time to be together. Just the two of us, just like we are now, but at my place instead."

"I guess we will..."

"We will! We just have to decide to do it, and make an effort." Barricade says with conviction, wrapping his arms around Jazz.

_That's all it takes. If there's a will, there's a way. They can make it, they just need to work for it, and be determined to not let circumstances get the better of them. If they were quitters, they'd already be over with, right?_

"We'll give it a try!" Jazz says, pressing up against him. "Now, what are we goin' ta try taday...?" He leers.

_Oh, if he'd only have the energy to try new things! But alas, he has recharged way too little, and worked far too hard..._

"I was thinking we could cuddle and take a nap before our shifts?"

Jazz's field reeks with disappointment, and Barricade feels bad, because if someone should want to bed Jazz, and take every opportunity to do so, it's him.

_But he's so tired, and he just wants some sweet intimacy without the pressure of fucking, some sweet touches, a light backrub, a few kisses, and a good nap, tangled up and close..._

"I really like being close to you, without pressure. Especially since I now know what I did to you before... I just want to snuggle, and enjoy being with you, without the demand for something sexual. Something genuine."

Rejection strands through Jazz's field before he reigns it in.

"I understand. So; hugs and recharge again?"

"I'd love that. I really recharge best with you close."

"I've noticed..."


	367. Chapter 367

He lets Jazz fuck him when he wakes up, because he feels guilty for rejecting Jazz before. It's good, as usual, and they snuggle a little afterwards, before Barricade helps him change the sheets, and then they head for the washracks.

"What's it like to take customers in the street?" 

_They haven't really talked about that, but it's probably something he should know. Jazz doesn't seem ashamed of his job, so why should he tippy toe around the topic? Especially since Jazz doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get out of it for some reason._

"It's fine. Less work than with one of tha brothers, though I don' consider most of 'em work per se."

"How do you mean _less work_?"

Jazz smirks. "Honey, it's not like the Johns rent us for an entire night very often. Remember how quick a blowjob can be...?"

Barricade flushes, remember how quickly he usually shot his load back when he was on a very wrong track.

"Yeah, I... Are they always quick?"

"Not always, but often enough. And sure, sometimes they wanna take us to a motel or somethin', but mostly it's a _dip, check, thank you, mech_ kind of deal. A lot of bendin' over a dumpster, or leanin' against a wall for a few minutes. They take their pleasure, n' I can give 'em the courtesy of a few moans or somethin'. They require very little sincerity, n' not much solicitin'."

Barricade thinks about how he had to work on getting Roadbuster into berth. 

"Nitro didn't need much soliciting either." He muses out loud.

Jazz starts laughing. "That's because he has wanned ta jump your struts since ya got here. He can be really hard ta flirt inta tha sack when he's in that mood, lemme tell ya that."

_Hopefully, Nitro will not be in that mood tonight, if he shows up. It would be a very easy last night here to go with him again._

"Dreadbot usually manages. I guess that's what happens when ya've been in-house long enough; he really knows which buttons ta push ta get Nitro revved up. I've tried doin' tha role he plays, ya know, bein' a snarky bitch, but I haven't quite managed ta get it right yet. I feel awkward n' ridiculous when I do it. I do it for other customers too sometimes, but it's much easier, since they're mostly not used ta a pro, who knows their preferences inside out, so they're happy with very little."

Barricade nods slowly, having a hard time grasping what it would be like to be picked up in the street and then fragged by a complete stranger.

_Ugh_.

"How much do you make?" He asks to distract himself.

Jazz shrugs. "Depends. I do get ten percent of what I earn, the rest goes ta tha Autobots. Tha more I sell, tha more I make."

"What are the prices like, then?"

_Ten percent isn't a good share, but the price really is what makes or breaks the case._

"Blowjob 70 credits, valve or spike 100, port is 130."


	368. Chapter 368

Well, Nitro Zeus is there, alright. That doesn't mean that he's available. Barricade certainly doesn't see a point in making a dick move and try to get between Dreadbot and his chosen target for the night.

_Especially not when Dreadbot is already straddling Nitro's sturdy thighs, and the Flier seems very happy about the situation, cupping Dreadbot's aft through the fluffy fabric covering his entire frame, bright optic hungrily roving the light lavender expanse._

_Fucking hell..._

The only thing missing is sparks flying between them, and he just knows that he doesn't stand a chance. 

_Not to mention how utterly unnecessary it would be to try to push Dreadbot out of the way. Just because he doesn't intend to stay, that doesn't justify being a bastard. Even though it would've been nice to have a last night with Nitro before he moves out..._

_I can't believe you thought that!_

_Shut up. He's brilliant with his tongue._

One mech that isn't currently occupied is Springer, and Jazz has recommended the mech, and what Barricade saw in Crosshairs's memories was promising. He approaches the mech, plastering a smile on his face-plates.

"Hi. Can I get you anything?" He asks, motioning towards the bar.

Springer looks him up and down, smirking approvingly.

"A bottle..."

Barricade feels his knees go weak when he remembers the whole thing with Bumblebee, and what Springer may enjoy a whole lot, and what it could mean for him, and holy fuck, the bastard is asking for a _bottle,_ and..

"Mid grade. Get me a bottle of mid grade, please. And a shot of '_to kill ya_' high grade."

Barricade nods, not daring to let go of the vent he's holding.

_He just wants drinks._

Barricade hurries back to the bar to fetch the requested drinks, pouring a shot for himself, quickly downing it to calm his nerves. He grabs the bottle and the shot glass, and one bottle of mid grade for himself, because it does seem better to join someone for drinks than to sit and stare while they have them. He approaches Springer again.

"Do you mind if I join you?" He asks while Springer grabs the bottle and his shot.

Springer's optics sweep his frame again, and the Triple changer licks his lip-plates.

"Not at all."

Barricade plunks down on the couch next to him, sipping his drink.

_Springer doesn't have any etchings, or stickers, no visible mods, so what's he supposed to talk about?_

"So, you're a Triple changer, right?"

"Sure am."

"What's it like?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... I don't know, what's it like to be able to choose? I'm a car, and that kind of defines me, I guess. But you have two modes..."

"You mean if I've got a split personality? Like the ignorant assholes tend to think about us?"

"No, not like that! I didn't even know... Do mecha really say that about Triple changers?!"

"Yeah, mostly at the same time as they say that Warframes aren't fully developed in the processor, that we're dumb. Oh, and that the military _hires_ us because it's the only thing we can do, and a Warframe who doesn't want to be in the military is a dud. Those kinds of things."

_Fuck, he really should've read up on the prejudice..._

"Well, you're obviously not dumb... And I meant more that you must feel so free to be able to choose. Like, do I take the road today, or do I fly."


	369. Chapter 369

"I never thought about it that way. It's always been like that, so I don't reflect much on it. How does it feel to be a sparked mech?"

"I... I don't know. I've never thought about it, I guess..."

"There you have it."

"Perhaps... I know that I really miss driving fast when I don't get to do it for a while, and I've heard Fliers complain about something similar when they can't take to the sky. I was just curious if you need both, or if fulfilling one cancels the other?"

"That is a good question, actually. I do like both flying and driving, but I guess I'd do well with just doing one of them. Flying is really convenient at a lot of times, but I wouldn't go bonkers if I was grounded for a while, if I just got to drive..."

Barricade remembers the fits of claustrophobia in prison — the urgent need to drive, _drive, drive! — _and something about the way Springer says it makes the Saleen feel like this mech knows the feeling.

_It probably won't be beneficial to bring up such things, and compare discomfort notes from their stints behind bars..._

"It's so sweet to have the open road stretched out in front of you, and just gun your engine and go..." Barricade almost startles from how sultry his voice is when saying that.

Springer tips his helm to get a better look at him, smirking knowingly.

"Yeah, a long, straight freeway — not many others on it to slow things down — just long enough to get you going, then there's some turns, and a hairpin exit, if you want to get wild, and push yourself until your tires squeal, and your brakes are running almost as hot as your manifold..."

Barricade's engine revs of it's own accord, and he can feel the first drops of dampness behind his plate. Springer's servo slides up his thigh, digits finding Barricade's heating panel.

"This starts to look very warm when I look at you with my infrared mode..." 

"I-I... Yes." Barricade whimpers, going even slicker when clever digits stroke his panel, teasing the seams around it.

His panel pops open without his permission, and Springer's digits are there immediately, slipping through his slick folds, dipping into him.

"Hot indeed..." Springer croons, pumping his digits into Barricade's valve.

"You really know how to turn my crank." Barricade mewls, and he does notice Springer's field flaring smugly.

He's pulled into Springer's lap, legs hooked over the massive mech's knees, and Springer continues to toy with his array.

_He's on display for anyone to see, his lubricant coating the big mech's digits..._

"Pray tell, little Bot, what is making you so embarrassed? You look delectable like this..." Springer purrs in his audial, fingers leaving Barricade's array for long moments to stroke up his ventral plating, tugging lightly at his crash bar, before returning his attention to Barricade's heating valve.

"I... anyone can see me like this!"

"Oh, yes, and it's such a nice view..."

Under Barricade's aft, Springer's interface plate is getting very hot.

_He may be fucked in public again tonight._

_I wonder if there's extra tips for the show._

_Shut up._


	370. Chapter 370

Barricade is squirming in Springer's lap, too aware of where they are to be able to relax enough to overload, but Springer is good enough to get him really close, and it's incredibly frustrating.

"Can't we..."

_He really doesn't want to ask for more, because he may get it without further ado, and he's just not drunk enough to do it right here._

"Can't we take this to your room?" He tries to purr, but it comes out more of a moan.

Springer hums thoughtfully, fingers slowing down inside Barricade, twisting and pumping languorously.

"I suppose we could..."

He grabs Barricade's hips, and pushes him to stand. Barricade takes a few steps to the side to leave Springer room to get up, starting towards the stairs, but it's more of a hobble than an actual walk.

His entire array feels swollen and slick, and walking stimulates everything. Barricade tries to keep his legs apart to not have his valve-lips put pressure on his node with every step, but it's not very effective. Springer snickers.

"Now that's a very smooth and sexy gait."

"Shush. It's your doing." Barricade grunts, flushing.

"I could spare you the walk. The table works great. Or the couch..."

"Or you could carry me." Barricade mutters, mostly to himself.

"Very easily."

Barricade squeaks in surprise when Springer hoists him up, cupping his aft with big servos. Barricade wraps his legs around the Triple changer's hips, and grabs on to his collar fairing for stability. A shaky moan leaves him when Springer adjusts him, and pressurizes his spike straight into Barricade's valve. A shudder of pleasure travels down his back-struts when Springer starts to walk towards the stairs, his spike teasing against the sensitive nodes inside Barricade, but nowhere near enough to bring him closer to overload.

"I should do this more often. It's really nice to just keep my spike warm and wet."

Barricade grunts non-committally.

_It's certainly one of the less bad things that could be done in public, but it doesn't matter, because he's not staying here for it._

Springer carries him into his room, and Barricade just has time to see that the color scheme matches Springer's paint, then the Triple changer spins around, pressing Barricade's back against the closed door. He rolls his hips, pressing in deep, and Barricade's digits scrabble against his collar fairing, as the sudden fullness is bordering on too much.

"Oh, yeah..." Springer groans, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts.

Barricade arches his back in an attempt to get Springer's pelvic plating to press against his anterior node, tilting his hips experimentally.

"You can touch you node yourself if you want to. I mean, my servos are occupied..." Springer says, voice rough.

Barricade curls his back to leave some room between their frames to work with his servo, and it allows Springer to get even deeper. He whimpers when that thick spike hits everything inside him, and spike his digits through his slick folds, feeling the spike slip in and out of him, before he starts circling his node.

_He's not going to last long._


	371. Chapter 371

Barricade is teetering on the edge, and he really wants to just keep rubbing his node to get that overload.

"Are you close? He whimpers, because if Springer isn't, then he's going to have to hold off for a while more.

"Not particularly." 

Barricade can't stop himself from making a frustrated noise when he pulls his servo away, and it makes Springer smirk smugly at him.

"Would be such a shame to have this end so quickly. And I don't feel like making a mess here. We should take this to the washracks." Springer murmurs into his audial.

Barricade couldn't care less where — well, at least behind the closed door — Springer wants to take this, as long as they continue, so that he can have his overload.

"Yes!" He hisses.

Springer doesn't pull out, he just carries Barricade through the door — the layout of the room is similar to Ironhide's and Nitro's — spike still hilted inside the Saleen. The shower starts up automatically as they approach, and Springer opens the glass door with one servo, testing the waters with his servo, leaving Barricade clinging to him to not hit the floor.

The big mech steps inside, apparently satisfied with the temperature, and immediately smashes Barricade's back against the wall pounding into him.

_They seriously have to have reinforced tiles in this place, or the fucking would break the walls._

_Unlike what you will have in whatever crummy apartment you'll be able to afford._

_Shut up._

Springer pulls out, and sets Barricade on his own pedes.

"Hey, why did you..." Barricade almost snarls, and it's startling how annoyed he is that Springer stopped, because he's supposed to not like it?

"Patience! Just setting things up to make it better for you." Springer smirks.

He grabs the showerhead from the wall, and dismounts it from the hose, placing his thumb over the stream to steer it.

"Do like this, and angle the stream against your anterior node."

Then he turns Barricade around grabbing his thighs, easily hoisting him up. Barricade braces one lower arm against the wall, and Springer slides into his valve again, setting a langorous, powerful rhythm of thrusts.

Barricade stares at the stream from the hose for long seconds, experimentally shifting his thumb around to change the pressure and angle. Then he does as Springer told him; he reaches down, aiming towards his array.

At first, he hits his valve-lip, bet a little adjustment, and then it hits his node, a pinpoint of pressure, against the plump, sensitive component.

Barricade wails, completely unprepared for the intense pleasure, and he hurriedly moves the stream away, or he would probably overload in point five seconds. Springer snickers, but his rhythm doesn't falter.

He shifts his thumb to lower the pressure if the stream, and then he starts to circle his node with it.

_It's fucking glorious, completely ingenious, and he both wants to overload right now, and at the same time, he wants to do this all day._

Barricade cries out, moaning and whimpering in a way that would be embarrassing, if he had half the processor to spare for such thoughts. 

Springer grunts, pressing in deep, biting down around the edge Barricade's shoulder-wing, and Barricade is spared from edging his overload further. He angles the stream just _so,_ and immediately overloads, valve pulsing heavily around the spike inside him, legs tense to a point of shaking. His helm lolls forward to rest against the arm he's bracing against the wall, and then his frame slumps, completely spent.


	372. Chapter 372

"Where did you learn that trick?" Barricade asks.

Springer remounts the showerhead while Barricade is still leaning against the wall — hard pressed to stand up of his own accord — and the hot water is pelting down on them.

"What trick is that?"

"The thing with the shower hose."

_Which is something he's definitely going to try again, when he's alone in the shower._

"I lost a bet."

"Hm?"

"I lost a bet. To Dreadbot. I challenged him to overload in under a minute without another mech to help him. I thought a different set of servos were always better than masturbation. I stupidly allowed him to choose what tools to use, expecting him to grab a thick fake spike or something. He just walked in here, grabbed the hose, and came really hard in 42.4 seconds."

"Oh."

_Why is he even surprised?_

"Quite the optic opener. I mean, being better than mediocre really takes some effort when competing against that."

"I guess you're right..."

_He never would've thought that these mechs actually care about 'being good'. Sure, Ironhide, Nitro Zeus, and Roadbuster all have made it pleasurable, but that the pimps actively try to be better than masturbation is a step farther than just getting their partners to overload._

He grabs a sponge, starting to wash Springer, because it's probably what's expected when in the shower together, and if he gets Springer's spike clean when he just had an overload lessens the risk of the washing leading to another round of fucking. 

_Not that the fucking is bad. It's just that he really wants to get his beauty recharge, so he can make tomorrow count before he renegotiates his employment._

"You said some things before, about things mecha say about Warframes. I must admit that I never really knew about that. Could you tell me a little about it?"

_First hand experience has to be better than searching the data net._

"What do you want to know? What do you already know?"

"What I kn... what I've _heard_ is that MTOs are built for certain purposes, and since they're created in a specific way, they're offered jobs in the sector they're built for. Since no more are built than there's demand for, they rarely get unemployed, and since they're coded to do a specific task, they rarely want to do anything else, so even as an Enforcer, we rarely saw any MTOs. They just didn't get involved in crime. But now I know that it's not the full picture..."

"Offered a job..." Springer mutters derisively. "That you didn't see many MTOs may also be a result that a '_malfunctioning'_ MTO would be sent back to the maker, for reprogramming, or destruction. To say that we're offered jobs is a smokescreen to cover the fact that we don't get a choice. It's so much easier if the general public just don't think about — and possibly get upset about — how the cybertronian empire is kept safe and expanded by a force of slaves, who are created to obey orders, and die on command. It's much cheaper for the big war corporations to not be forced to take care of their soldiers, and pay salaries, and give them decent living conditions."

Barricade's spark feels cold.

_It's such a can of worms he has opened, because he was always told that the military had jurisdiction of any employed soldier, should they commit crimes, so the Enforcers were just supposed to return him to his employment._

"So, an MTO who got out of the compound, and did some crimes... What would happen when he was returned to his _employer?"_

Springer shrugs. "Depends on what he did, and what his service value would be at the moment. Anything from a public punishment, to being smelted."


	373. Chapter 373

"But you all went to prison! How did that happen? Shouldn't you have been handed over to the military?"

"We're all registered as retired, so we're not military anymore. By now, we're so old, we're past our expiration dates too." Springer says smugly.

Barricade frowns. "Do they do that once you've served long enough?"

"No, not really. Very few mechs are allowed to retire, mostly that happens if they're sold off to the private sector as security. Some Warframes with good track records get to serve as bodyguards to some big shots and stuff, and the owner can choose to retire them when they want to get a newer model. Passing the expiration date in the army mostly means being smelted, as most of the parts will be too old and worn to be recycled. We're very lucky to have a good hacker in our ranks, and since we're now registered as retired, they can't claim us. But now we adhere to civilian laws, and back then, we just knew nothing about those, so we made a few stupid things that got us put behind bars."

_He can't really blame them for changing their identities in an illegal way to save themselves from being smelted, it's what anyone would do._

"So the lack of MTO Warframes in society isn't down to MTOs being happy about getting to do what they're created for, and never leaving the army to try their luck elsewhere, but because they doesn't really have a choice?" Barricade asks just to clarify, because he's not really willing to comprehend that something so ugly is the truth, and that slavery technically still exist, in spite of what he thought he knew of the modern Cybertronian society.

"Exactly. It's not all that glorious to constantly risk your functioning, to automatically calculate if your fellow soldiers should be rescued and repaired, or just left to extinguish and be treated like scrap. Or how about being whipped until you can hardly stand because you retreated when the strategists had decided that you and all your friends are expendable collateral damage to win a battle?"

"No, that certainly does not sound likea dream job."

_Suddenly washing dishes until his arms fail seems really nice._

Digits sliding along the edge of Barricade's shoulder-wing pulls him out of his thoughts.

"But enough with the heavy conversations for now. I consider us clean enough for my berth. Unless you want to play a little more with the shower hose before we finish this."

_It's really tempting to do it again, he's really curious about it, and want to experiment more with it. But Springer would watch, and he's not quite ready for doing that with an audience._

_He fingered you in the rec room, and you did play with yourself for Roadbuster..._

_But now he's allowed to choose._

"I'm good for now. Your berth sounds like a plan."


	374. Chapter 374

Springer's berth is as comfortable as all the other berths he has been in so far, covered in bedding matching the Triple changer's paint job. Barricade stretches out, wiggling deeper into the fluffy covers, and Springer watches him hungrily.

"You have such a nice frame..." He says, voice gravelly.

Barricade realizes that he was putting on a bit of a show, even if he didn't intend to, and he flushes.

"Thank you." He mumbles.

_At this rate, he's going to get himself fucked again, and he really needs some recharge._

_But then again, if you get fucked again, you'll get a better tip. Just look at the credits you have earned so far: ten percent of the street value for every overload the mechs have had, and it's more than a day's work earns you..._

The berth dips when Springer crawls onto it, stretching out next to him. A big servo stroke the Mustang's ventral plating, up to his chest-plates, teasing his headlight, before sliding up to wrap around his throat. Barricade's spark skips a revolution, and he swallows nervously when Springer's servo presses against his chin, tilting his helm back to expose the sensitive tubes and wires.

Springer makes a contemplative noise, and then a digit trails Barricade's intake tube. Barricade is laying stock still, frame tense, because once again, it's highlighted how small and helpless he is with the Warframes.

_The digit trailing his throat probably has extendable talons, and the servo wrapped around it could easily crush all the components._

"What do you want?" He manages to force out, voice unsteady.

"I'm thinking about how nice this little tube would look, stretched around my cock. Scoot over to the edge of the berth, and let your helm hang over the edge."

Springer lets go of him and Barricade scrambles to obey, even if his spark is speeding out of control. He lets his helm loll over the edge of the berth as requested, even if it feels rather obscene, and he watches as Springer crawls off the berth again, kneeling in front of him to give barricade a very close up view of his interface plate.

"Mh, yes, you look so nice like this." 

Springer's spike pressurizes, and the Triple changer presses it against Barricade's lip-plates.

"I-I... I've never done this before." Barricade says against the head of the spike, pre-transfluid getting smeared across his lip-plates.

"Just relax your throat and let it in. I'll go slow."


	375. Chapter 375

There's an awful moment when Springer's spike reaches the back of his intake, pushing against the sensitive tubing there, and Barricade's throat convulses, closing up. Springer pulls back just a little to take the pressure off.

"Just relax. You can do this." Springer croons encouragingly, cupping the back of Barricade's neck to support him. "Just like swallowing a piece of frozen low grade..."

_Easy to say for someone who's not on the receiving end._

He doesn't really see any other options than trying to make it work, though, so when Springer presses in deeper again, he tries to swallow the thick spike.

It passes the sensitive spot at the back of his intake, and after a moment of a very strong urge to gag, it feels easier. The spike slides deeper, and there's a weird stretch in the tubing, but it's not as uncomfortable as he thought it would be.

_Probably worth it for the tips! You're getting so good at this!_

_Shut up._

_Don't you mean 'chuch u'k'? Heh._

_Seriously._

Springer slowly starting to thrust distracts him from his thoughts.

"Yeah, this looks _so_ hot." Springer groans.

Barricade can only guess what part of him Springer means, because all he can see is the Triple changer's sturdy thighs, but it's probably whatever his throat tubing looks like when Springer's spike slips in and out of it.

_At least it's much less work than being fucked. Sure, he could finger himself, but it hasn't been requested, and it's kind of easy to just let Springer do his thing, and not even need to find the energy for another overload._

Springer is picking up the pace, probably getting closer to his overload, but it's not like Barricade can do much about it. Then Springer grabs his crash bar for leverage, starting to thrust in earnest.

It's not comfortable, but at least it's quickly over when Springer presses in deep, spike pulsing in Barricade's throat. He sees the rise in the levels in his tank, but otherwise, he doesn't really notice the other's cum, which isn't something negative.

Springer pulls out, crawling onto the berth, and stretches out next to Barricade.

"Frag, that was so good. Not bad at all for a first timer."

_However it's possible to be good or bad when doing something that really mostly is about waiting for the mech to finish._

Barricade turns around, grabbing one of the pillows Springer isn't using at the moment. The Triple changer throws an arm across Barricade's waist, pulling him closer. A big servo cups the Saleen's aft.

"You good to recharge now?" Springer asks.

"Sounds nice."


	376. Chapter 376

It feels easier to work than it usually does. Maybe it's the amount of recharge — Springer let him off the hook rather early, after all, and didn't demand more before Barricade left — or perhaps it's because it's the last day on trial, and after his negotiation, he'll be able to move out.

_No more having a dick down his throat, or up his ass, if he doesn't decide to do that for Jazz on occasion._

He's still careful about doing a good job, and not slacking off, because it would be easy to let his relief make him sloppy or slow, and Barricade is not keen on falling flat just before the finish line.

The manager has shut himself in his office and doesn't come out until Barricade's shift is almost over. Barricade has put all the trays in the drying rack, and is cleaning his work station.

"Hello, Sir."

"Barricade." The manager greets him. "I've been thinking really hard about your efforts this week. You're punctual, you do what you're told, and you work at your best capacity."

"I do what I can, Sir."

Barricade's spark is spinning out of control with nerves."

_This is it._

"You've served me well so far — in spite of being an ex convict — and I want to give you an opportunity to try to be an upstanding citizen. We have a lot to do here, and the business going very well, so I want you to take an eight hour shift: starting at three thirty in the morning, and finishing at twelve."

Barricade's spark soars in a funny way.

"However, you're nowhere near as efficient as a mech with a dishwasher alt. I can only offer you four credits and hour. I also count on that you'll be having some of the gels in your breaks, so there will be a fuel deduction of five credits a day."

Barricade's world seems to spin. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful, but this isn't what he hoped for.

_Sure, he's getting more hours, but with the cutback in pay, and then the deduction for fuel, he won't be making much more a day than he does now. And with the added hours, his arms will probably be worn more quickly._

_Three fucks, and you'd have made more, and paid for the rent too, and won't need repairs. Well, not that kind, at least._

_Shut up._

_You'll have to get up really early too. And you really love mornings, don't you?_

_Not helping._

"I-I... I need to think about it." He blurts, and then he realizes how it may make him seem lazy when the manager gives him a very unimpressed look. "I mean, I'm really thankful that you want to hire me... Do we get... some sort of medical benefits?"

"Medical benefits? That's what you have an insurance for. And I don't see why _I_ should be responsible for your need of repairs. And here I thought I was being generous to offer you a chance. I'm sure you know that many employers wouldn't hire a convict..."

"I know how hard it is to find a job, and I really am thankful. I just... I need to do the math, so I can afford the necessities, or if I need to get a second job too, and if I'll have time to work more."

"You have all weekend to have a second job. But you know what, take the afternoon to _do your math._ If you want the job, you'll be here at three thirty tomorrow morning, or I'll just hire someone else."


	377. Chapter 377

_27 credits a day. That's far less than he hoped for. And the five credits for fuel certainly is a bastard deal. If he bought cheap fuel in bigger packs in a discount store, and brought his own in a container, he could get away with much less for his breakfast. Sweet gels really don't appeal to him for sustenance anyway, and that's the kind they make. Maybe a tidbit here and there, but certainly not as a meal._

He scrubs himself down quickly, and then he heads for the rec room in the pleasurebot wing. It's rarely used, as everyone tends to wind up in the main one, and he's going to use that to his advantage.

_If he decides to take the job, he better get to recharge right away, because he'll be up really early, and he's probably not going to have a chance to get much recharge tonight. Hopefully, Jazz will understand that he can't afford the time to talk and cuddle._

He grabs a blanket from one of the chairs, and stretches out on a couch, offlining his optics.

But recharge eludes him, because there are so many things to consider, and he really needs to do that math, so he grabs the data pad Ironhide has given him, and starts searching for insurance, because when rent and fuel is paid for, insurance certainly is at the top of the list of things he should try to have.

_It's expensive._

Sure, there are cheap options, but when he checks the terms, the cheaper ones don't cover damage from doing something your alt mode isn't created for, and often there's also a clause about not covering work related damage. The employee insurances are far more expensive than he'll be able to afford.

It's such a downer, he tries to cheer himself up by looking through ads for apartments. He briefly glances at a few where mechs are looking for a roommate to split the rent, but they always require the prospective tenants to have a clean rap sheet, so there's no point in trying.

_Such a shame. It would make it much easier to find something he can afford, and he may have been convicted, but he's really trying to turn his life around._

The cheapest apartment he can find is three hundred a month, and it'll put a dent in his earnings, but he should be able to afford it. 

_And then he may be able to find another job, and the budget won't be as tight. Hopefully, his boss can provide a reference if he looks for another one, and it'll be easier to get one._

_Or you could stay here. Make the same kind of credits, but rent and fuel is already paid, and you get to sleep in. In comfortable berths with expensive sheets and pillows. And then you can have an oil bath, while smoking a doobie._

_And work with degrading himself in every way he can think of, and probably some ways he doesn't even know yet._


	378. Chapter 378

Apparently, he nodded off, because Barricade wakes up when his alarm tells him that it's time to start working again. The data pad is perched on his chest where it has slipped out of his grasp when he fell into recharge. Barricade subspaces it again, and folds the blanket, hanging it over the back of the couch, before he heads to the other rec room.

_He had planned to be out of here tonight, but with the job offer he got, he really is doing the right thing to not let it be a hasty decision._

_And you can always make some extra tips tonight, and spend some time in a fancy washrack, or a comfortable berth before you kiss those luxuries goodbye. _If_ you take the job and move out... _

_He's not going to resign to be a whore, that he can't do better._

His thoughts are interrupted when his crash bar is grabbed, and he's swung around, back hitting the bar.

"You claimed for the night?" Sideswipe asks, optics slithering up and down his frame.

"No...?" Barricade says hesitantly, stifling a shudder.

"Wanna have some fun?"

_He never considered Sideswipe, because he never really interacted with the mech before — except that time Sideswipe yelled at him — and aside from lingering oglings that doesn't really stand out from the rest of the crowd, the mech hasn't shown much interest in him._

"Uhm, yeah?"

"I like it a bit rough, but you'll get well paid for it."

_That doesn't sound promising._

_Money, money, money... And look, he has a badge that says 'vice president'! This is the highest ranking mech after Hide!_

_Not really important, is it?_

_Is it really _un_important?_

"I don't want to be damaged, but we could give it a try?"

Sideswipe downs the rest of his cube, then he smirks as he looks Barricade up and down again.

"Excellent."

He's tugged along towards the stairs, spark spinning nervously. He has been mech handled a bit before, but that Sideswipe actually says he wants to be rough makes him wonder if this is going to be worse. He's seen what Blackout does without asking if rough is okay, so maybe this is the next level rough.

_At least Sideswipe said that he'll get well paid, and if he doesn't get damaged, then it probably can't be too bad. _

_And you really like the credits._

_Shut up. I might as well fill up my savings account as much as possible, since I still have to pay my rent here anyway._

_Right..._

"Move it, _Officer._" Sideswipe growls, pushing Barricade to walk in front of him up the stairs.


	379. Chapter 379

"I want to cuff you." Sideswipe says as soon as they're inside his room.

"Ok..." Barricade says after a long moment of hesitation.

"Just say melon if you need to be released."

"What's a melon?"

"Apparently some kind of organic thing some of the others had fun throwing at each other when they were off world. I figure it's a good word, because it's not something you'd say in any other context." Sideswipe says, while locking the cuffs around Barricade's wrists-struts. "There. On your knees, Officer."

Barricade sinks to his knees, even though it makes him nervous. Sideswipe steps up in front of him, grabbing one of Barricade's audial horn. He holds out his spike for Barricade.

"Certainly not everyday I get an Enforcer in this position. Lick my spike."

Barricade obeys, lapping at the thick head of Sideswipe's spike, drawing a groan from the big mech. Sideswipe lets him work without guidance for a little while, then he suddenly rolls his hips, pushing into Barricade's intake. Barricade can't really do much but allow it when Sideswipe starts to fuck his mouth none too gently. He shivers when that spike hits the back of his throat repeatedly, but he manages to relax enough to not gag, at least.

_Well, now you know what it felt like for the whores when you did this..._

Barricade can't even deny it.

_At least he wasn't quite this rough._

_No, but at least you're going to get well paid for this._

Sideswipe pulls out, and then he grabs Barricade's arms, pulling at them to force him to bend over until his cheek is pressed to the floor. His legs are nudged farther apart, and Sideswipe kneels behind him, deftly opening the manual latches to Barricade's interface plate. Two digits are pushed into his valve without preamble, and it's quite uncomfortable, because Barricade is not really aroused. At least Sideswipe has the courtesy to pump his digits a few times, hitting that spot inside him that really starts his lubrication.

The digits are pulled out, and replaced with Sideswipe's spike. The mech holds on to Barricade's cuffed wrists with one servo, and his hip with the other, and immediately sets a punishing pace, rocking Barricade with each thrust.


	380. Chapter 380

_Well, at least his mod came in handy again._

_Yeah, but you should probably start lubing yourself up before your shifts anyway. You kind of killed the mood there for a moment, and that may be visible on the paycheck._

_He's not doing more shifts here. He starts work in a few hours, and then he'll be out of here for good.  
_

Barricade washes the transfluid from the plating on his back and aft, using Sideswipe's solvent. It's the top notch stuff, as everything else the brothers surround themselves with.

_Then you'll be washing up with the swill._

_Shut up._

"Join me in the hot tub when you're done." Sideswipe says from where he's reclining in the tub.

_Well, there's really no point in trying to catch some more recharge anyway._

Barricade finishes up in the shower and stops by the stairs leading into the oil. Sideswipe has placed a cube on the edge of the tub, and he points to it.

"For you." He says, before sipping from his own one.

"Thanks." Barricade says as he steps into the tub.

The oil is the perfect temperature, and he groans with pleasure when he sinks into it. It caresses his tired cables and struts, and he feels himself relaxing.

"Was this your first time doing that sort of... I guess you can call it roleplay?"

"Yes." Barricade says, occupying himself with sipping from the cube, because it's not exactly what he wants to talk about.

_But alas, you suck at leading a conversation, so you'll just have to take what you get._

"You should've said something. We could've talked about the details before we started. I'm so used to everyone knowing my preferences, I didn't think about that."

"I just thought... I don't know, that I should just allow you to have your way?"

"Well, it's what I expect, since you did go along with me, but I thought you'd be a bit more responsive, act a little less pliable. But how would you know that? I'm sorry I didn't realize this earlier. We should've talked about it beforehand, both for you to know what I want, but also so I could do something for your enjoyment."

"We'll do that the next time." Barricade says slowly.

_Not that there's going to be a next time._

"In the meantime, you could let me make it up to you. Come sit in my lap."


	381. Chapter 381

Barricade's helm lolls forward, his forehelm thunking against Sideswipe's shoulder.

_The vibrating base of the mech's spike is a surprise, but he certainly isn't going to complain._

He rocks his hips, grinding against Sideswipe. Not because he needs more stimulation, it's purely his frame showing it's approval without his consent.

"You like that?" Sideswipe asks, a smirk audible in his voice.

"Yes!" Barricade hisses.

Vaguely, he remembers a mention of this mod, but he really could never imagine that it would feel this good.

_It's perfect when he's riding Sideswipe in the hot tub, not wanting to move around too much to splash the oil everywhere. And also because it feels so gloriously good._

"How the pit does this mod add up with your sadistic streak?" He groans in honest wonder.

Sideswipe chuckles. "I like to _play_ rough. I also like it when my partner is enjoying to be with me. Those things don't need to be mutually exclusive..."

Digits map out Barricade's shoulder-wings, tweaking the wiring to all the sensors, and rubbing the plating, and the focus the sensitive components is rather novel. Sideswipe's mod leaves his servos free to play like this, and Barricade really can't disapprove of this. He leans back slightly to leave a little room between their frames, and strokes up Sideswipe's chest-plates, teasing his headlights.

Sideswipe groans, then he reciprocates by rolling a particularly sensitive cable in one of Barricade's transformation joints. It causes Barricade's valve to clench, a surge of charge trickling through his entire systems.

"Would you overload from just having your wings toyed with?"

"I... ah, I don't know..." Barricade says, hard pressed to process the question. "Never tried it."

"Hm. We could try that later. I don't know about Praxians, but some Fliers can."

_It's an experiment he actually wouldn't mind participating in._

"We could do that." He groans, grinding against Sideswipe again.

_Not that he really minds this vibrating spike inside him, building his charge slowly..._

Barricade leans in to lick at Sideswipe's chest-plates, glossa finding a thin ridge in the otherwise smooth metal; a scar from a weld that hasn't healed perfectly. 

_A battle scar. _


	382. Chapter 382

_The night might not have started out very nicely, but it certainly took a turn for the better with that bath, he'll admit that._

Barricade stretches, and rolls over to look at Sideswipe again. 

_For a mech who likes to be rough, and has a kink for fake raping an Enforcer, he does know how to give pleasure too._

Sideswipe is in recharge, and Barricade wishes he could be that carefree too, especially after that overload in the jacuzzi, and then the second one when they tried that tactile idea of Sideswipe's. Apparently, Barricade can't overload from just having his shoulder-wings stroked and tweaked, but Sideswipe was quick to provide what was needed to get Barricade over the edge.

But Barricade is still awake, because he can't allow himself to fall into recharge. 

_He probably couldn't, even if he wanted to, allowed himself to do it. Not with all the things spinning around in his processor now, to the ominous backdrop of his chronometer steadily ticking towards the deadline when he will have to make the final decision._

_The decision if you can just accept this job, and live the good life thanks to it, or if you prefer to scrub plates for the rest of eternity._

_At least he gets to keep his dignity if he takes that job and moves out._

_Yes, because doing a job with a ridiculous pay, for a boss who has never said anything positive about your efforts at all, and is using the fact that you have a rap sheet against you. Certainly sounds like you're _keeping your dignity.

What Sideswipe started the night with firmly convinced him that he really should take the job at the gelery. He could always look for a different job later on.

But that oil bath, and good energon, is dangerously alluring. He never had excess before, even if he had a comfortable life before he went away. He can make do with less, but knowing that he'll be forced to only have the cheapest of the budget stuff makes the sweet temptation of nice baths, expensive polish, and top shelf fuel all the more enticing.

It's just the way he'd pay for it that's really a problem, but after two really nice rounds with Sideswipe, and two good overloads, it suddenly doesn't seem that bad anymore.

Then he's reminded about the mechs he still hasn't tried, and the hints he has gotten about what they're interested in, and he's back to square one. He certainly didn't enjoy Sideswipe mechhandling him the way he did, the way the Vice president just used Barricade to get off, and there's a very real risk that that's the way he's going to be treated a lot of the time. 

_It brings him back to square one. Should he stay, or should he take the job and accept a period of poverty?_


	383. Chapter 383

"I accept your offer."

"You surprise me. I actually thought you wouldn't make it here, that you were a quitter. I mean, there's a reason that you landed in jail in the first place, so I thought you'd take the easy route and go for easier money, instead of an honest job."

Barricade doesn't bother to correct the mech's misconception. 

_Sure, he took bribes, but it was never about money, and even if he has realized that it derailed horribly, at least he started out with good intentions._

"Well, get to scrubbing. We have a lot to do here today. As always." The manager says, before heading for his office.

Barricade briefly opens his digital wallet. The credits for his trial weeks are there, all 200. But then there's the 110 credits he has earned in just four nights, 110 he has earned _after_ rent, and fuel has been paid for.

_It actually is easy credits. Sideswipe's tip of 45 credits — 33 for the fucking, and then he rounded it upwards for the special stuff — really highlights that._

_If you did a foursome, you'd do 30 credits in one go. Three of those a night, you'd almost make a week's pay in one night. Springer's cock down your throat, Nitro's in your valve, and Roadbuster's in your aft..._

_Shut up. He's not going to do it like that._

"Scrap, mech! You look really scratched up..." Tailgate says as he walks by.

"Hm? I suppose..."

_He did shower, but he didn't really think about getting a polish. Not that he would've have had much time for it, and he probably wouldn't have been able to reach the paint transfers, but he could've done something to make it less obvious. He was just too busy having his shoulder-wings caressed, and then there was the fretting..._

"Uh, yeah... Something happened?" Tailgate asks slowly, taking in Barricade's frame.

Barricade looks down at himself, which he hasn't done since getting out of Sideswipe's berth at the last minute, drawing out the decision until it was nearly too late.

_He really looks like slag. At least Sideswipe's penchant for playing roughly makes him equally scratched up all over, and not just in a telltale pattern on his hips, thighs, and pelvic plating._

"Nothing serious. Just... My old job. I just... it was the middle of the night, and I slipped on the stairs in the dark and took a tumble. Not enough recharge, you know, I told you about the bad schedule..." He tries to look adequately sheepish.

"Okay..." Tailgate says, sounding doubtful.

_For good reason. It's the shittiest lie ever._

"It doesn't matter now, though. I'm quitting that job. I got hired!"

"Oh, yes, I heard! Congratulations!" Tailgate says excitedly, clearly not the kind to snoop, and easily distracted.

"Thank you! It feels good to be onboard with a better job."

It's not a lie. Even if the quickly adding up credits from the tips, and all the other pros of staying at Hide's house are very tempting, this is the first time since before he went to prison he's truly standing on his own pedes. Barricade really feels that he is making progress in creating a better life for himself.

_He's going to go find Hide after his shift is done, and tell him in person that he's quitting, and moving out. It is more polite than just comming him, or sending a text, but mostly, he wants to see Hide's face — since he seemed so smugly amused when Barricade started his trial, as if he didn't think it would work out — when he says that he has found a new job. And tonight, he's going to celebrate by taking a few credits from his hard earned credits, and spend it on a small cube of good high grade, and a recharge cubicle._


	384. Chapter 384

"Can I talk to you, Hide? In private."

"Sure, we can go to my room." 

"So _that's_ what you kids call it these days." Nitro Zeus snickers. "Have fun, Prez." He leers, pouring another round of shots.

"You better let him out of your room before tonight. Other mechs have needs..." Blackout rumbles, downing his shot in one go, motioning for Nitro to fill the glass again.

_It's fucking 01:10 in the afternoon, and they're already aiming for 'drunk'!_

_One of the perks of working here: that's totally socially accepted._

It's kind of odd to do the walk up the stairs again, even if it wasn't many nights since he last went to Ironhide's room, and not even a day since he did this walk with Sideswipe. There's something final about it this time, and even if Barricade remembers how it felt in the beginning, and how it felt to go with Nitro, and Roadbuster — that feeling of helplessness, and how badly he didn't want to do it — this time, it's almost a little melancholic.

_An era ending. He's moving out, and life as he knows it — because this _has _been his reintroduction to life outside prison — is about to change._

The door slides shut behind them, and Barricade takes a seat in the chair, to emphasize that he isn't there for fucking.

_Even if it mostly was good. He's going to be exclusive from now on._

_It almost feels strange._

_Yeah..._

"So what's up?" Ironhide asks.

"I've gotten a full-time employment. I want to end my trial, and move out. Tonight."

Ironhide cocks his helm. "Sure. As I've always said: you're a free mech, and you're free to go at any time."

"Yeah."

_It kind of feels strange that it's that easy._

"I think it's a shame, though. From what I've heard, everyone of my Bros have been satisfied with your performance so far. You've got potential."

"Uh... Okay?"

_Not exactly what he wants to have potential for..._

_But the credits! The credits are so good! And sometimes the fucking too..._

"There will be some disappointed mechs here, that's for sure. Anyway, as long as the spot hasn't been taken by someone else, you're welcome back to continue your trial."

"Thanks."

_Not that he wants to..._

"I'll give you some time to reconsider, so I won't tell your parole supervisor yet, and I'll leave the prescription for weed until it needs to be renewed. Have you talked to Jazz?"

"Thank you, that's very generous. And no, I'm going to do that now."

"Good."


	385. Chapter 385

"I've accepted my job offer."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I got the offer yesterday — and I'm sorry for not showing up, but I really needed the recharge — and I accepted it this morning."

Jazz's visor covers some of his expression, but the frown of his mouth looks like sadness and disappointment. "I'm glad ya got an offer." He says, but it doesn't sound sincere.

"I didn't make the decision lightly, but I really want to work my way to being a good citizen all on my own, without the help of dubious contacts for the right paperwork and stuff."

Jazz's face-plates smooth out again. "I guess I can understand that. Ya wanna do it of your own power, n' not be helped by a pimp... Still seems like a lonely place ta me. N' much harder than I would like, but ta each his own, I guess."

"I still want to see you, I like you a lot, Jazz, and I respect your choices. It's just that I worked so hard to get somewhere, and then I lost my way and fucked up horribly. I want to try to find my way back to the path I was on, want to right my wrongs."

"Ya know that ya wouldn' have met me past arrestin' me if ya had followed that _righteous path_, right?"

"I know. It did lead to good things too, but I want to secure that the good things can continue, and for that, I feel like I need my rap sheet to be squeaky clean . I don't want to think about what would happen if Prowl decided to make a surprise check..."

"Hide has it covered. Jus' so ya know. But I understand."

"I'm glad you do. I'll tell you as soon as I've found an apartment, but I hope we can go for energon or something before that?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm free in tha afternoons, n' ya'll need ta go ta home ta recharge by that time I need ta get ready for work. Of course I wanna see ya."

_That Jazz still will have that particular job twists something inside him, but there's nothing he can do about it. Not until he has things set up well enough to provide for them both._

"I am going to miss our lazy afternoons..." He says, leaning his helm against Jazz's shoulder.

"Me too! I really have enjoyed havin' ya 'round. I really wanna see ya as much as possible..." Jazz wraps his arm around Barricade's neck, leaning in to kiss his neck-cables.

They fall back on the berth, and Jazz is immediately on him; kissing, nipping, fiddling with the components that are extra sensitive. Barricade reciprocates, slim talons slipping through seams in Jazz's plating. Jazz crawls on top of him, grinding against him, and Barricade isn't slow to go along with the silent request.

_But if they're going to keep seeing each other, why does this feel like a breakup?_


	386. Chapter 386

The recharge cubicle is very cramped — of course it is, it's a garage just big enough for him to recharge in, and he can't afford to get a bigger one — and Barricade is really stiff in the mornings when he transforms to root mode. He stares at his "room" and decides to not go in there until evening, when he needs to do it to get enough recharge for his next shift. It's boring to spend time in there anyway, folded up into his alt mode.

A shower would be glorious, but the cubicle is 17 credits a day, and the shower is extra, so he really tries to put it off for as long as he can to not get forced into digging into his meager savings just for a shower.

_He really needs to find an apartment, so he doesn't need to spend so much a day, and to have his own washracks included. At least he can get fuel at work, since the cost is already deducted whether he takes it or not._

But not showering, and not cramming himself into the glorified garage, leaves him with time to spare, and no place to go.

_He hasn't seen Jazz since he moved out a week ago..._

::H'llo, babe.::

::Hello, Jazz. Want to go someplace for some hot energon and a chat?:: He says as soon as Jazz responds to his comm.

::Sure, sounds good! Same place as tha last time?::

::I'd like that, meet you there?::

::Yeah! I'm jus' gonna have a quick shower first.::

Barricade looks himself over; the lingering dust and dirt in his struts that he can't get out with a mere wipe down; a few stains from the solvent he washes the moulds in; the scratched paint on his digits.

_He'd like to clean up before seeing Jazz, but there's not much he can do about that. At least it's mostly dirt from work, so he'll just have to see it as a badge of honor. _

::Alright. See you soon!::

::Can't wait!::

The hang up, and Barricade slowly starts to walk towards the energon shop. Spending so much time in alt mode in his cubicle makes him reluctant to drive. He gets so stiff when he transforms back to root mode.

_He probably needy some oil infused energon, but that's expensive. Hopefully, he'll find an apartment soon, then he'll be able to afford it. If he even needs it when he can recharge in root mode._

_You know there's a a way to solve all those problems in one go?_

_I'm not going back there._


	387. Chapter 387

He's nursing his hot energon when Jazz walks in, perfectly polished, and looking perky. A couple of Construction frames sitting by a table more or less rubbernecks to ogle Jazz, and it's easy to see why.

_He's so damned gorgeous. _

He always was, but his new alt mode really makes his kibble ridiculously appealing, and he looks healthier than he ever did when they met. Quality fuel, maintenance, and no more heavy drugs really does make a difference.

Jazz doesn't seem to notice the looks he's getting, he spots Barricade, and waves cheerily at him, smiling widely as he approaches.

"Hey, babe! I'm gonna order somethin' for me. Ya want a refill or somethin? My treat."

_Oh, he'd love another cup of the delicious, rather tart energon he's having, but this was his idea, and it just doesn't feel right to mooch on Jazz. The fuel is rather expensive._

"Maybe a tungsten crisp, please?" He asks, because he loves those, and they are pretty cheap, so he doesn't need to feel bad about it.

"Ya got it!" Jazz grins, heading for the counter to order.

Barricade sits back, studying his lover.

_Jazz really is handsome, and he's such a sweetspark; considerate, forgiving, and almost always happy and easy-going. Just generally easy to be around._

_You really need to get on with finding an apartment so you can see him more._

_Yeah._

Jazz comes back, carrying his energon, and a plate with two tungsten crisps, and a rather elaborate creation with fluffy grease, and rusty crumbles on top, drizzled with PTFE-oil. Barricade feels his oral lubrication increase when he watches the rich goodness.

"I got ya two crisps. Ya really don't look like ya need ta go on a diet." Jazz says, putting the plate, and his cube down before leaning in to steal a kiss from Barricade.

"It looks like you're hungry, though." Barricade says, ogling Jazz's cake.

"I really am. We went racin' yesterday!" Jazz says excitedly, before he shoves a spoonful into his mouth, moaning around the bite. "It was so fun, Hide managed ta get us a trainin' slot at tha racing stadium, n' everyone with a ground alt went. Springer beat Knock Out, n' it was so fun ta see Knockie try ta hide what a sore loser he is — Knock Out was a street racer before he started workin' for Hide, ya know, so he's kind of tetchy 'bout bein' called slow — n' Dreadbot is fuckin' great. He looks like he'll fall apart at any moment, but he sure has had the right upgrades on his engine..."

Barricade listens to Jazz's excited retelling of their outing, and he's almost jealous.

_It sound so fun! _

"... anyway, it was so cool when we walked into tha stadium, n' this stuck up racer said 'you don't win by having the most paddock mechs, you need a frame for it.' ta Hide, n' Knockie recognized tha fragger from his street racin' days, n' jus' stuck his hip out n' said 'so you finally sucked the right dick to get someone to buy NOs for you.' in that haughty way he can. Everyone started laughin', n' tha mech flushed horribly, so apparently that was true. He skittered off ta cower in his paddock when Hide grinned like he was gonna eat him — n' not in a good way — n' jus' said 'I don't need to be fast, I know how to aim.' I mean, I know that Hide is fast too, but tha look on tha mech's face was priceless."

_At least Jazz is having fun, even if it is without him._


	388. Chapter 388

"So how about ya? Been doin' anythin' fun?" Jazz asks him when he has finished his story about their exciting day at the race track.

"Not really. I've been working, and looking for an apartment..." Barricade trails off, because that's literally the only things he has done, and it feels too mundane to talk about, especially after what Jazz has told him.

"Found a place yet?"

"No, I'm still looking for something affordable."

Barricade has always been too late so far, as it has turned out that the cheap apartments are really sought after. Even if he has been quick to call the advertisers, he hasn't had any luck, and someone else has already booked the apartment.

_He feels so fucking pathetic; he moved out to get his own place, and he hasn't even been able to do that, in spite of literally not doing anything but working, and searching for a place to live._

_And your salary certainly isn't anything to write home about._

"Yeah, it's a tough market." Jazz cocks his helm as he looks Barricade up and down. "Is tha work hard?"

Barricade is aware of what he looks like on closer inspection, and he can guess that Jazz is really asking about his physical state.

_He should've wiped down more carefully, but he was getting out of wipes, and he doesn't want to spend too much._

"It is. My arms are always feeling worn, and at the end of the week, they're getting sore, but it'll soon be weekend again, so I'll hopefully be able to get some rest.

_Even if the cubicle doesn't really allow for him to properly rest, crammed up as he is._

"Sounds exhaustin'. I would not be able ta do it. I'm jus' too lazy." Jazz says with a rather sheepish smile.

"It's not easy, but I really want to try before I give up."

_He's not going back to Hide's._

Jazz looks him up and down again. "So, how 'bout we go get a detailin'? I do know this shop close by. My treat."

_He really doesn't want to mooch on Jazz, but he hasn't had a shower since he left Hide's house, and he feels rather gross — especially when comparing to Jazz, who's perfectly polished — and he has no idea what to do now that they've had their snack and beverages, and he has no place to invite Jazz too._

"If it's not too expensive? I don't want to be a burden to you..."

"Oh no! I really wanna treat ya ta somethin' nice." 


	389. Chapter 389

"We both want a light waxin'." Jazz tells the mech at the reception of the detailing shop.

"Absolutely, Sir. Shared room?"

"Yeah."

"Both at the same time, or do you want to wait for each other? I do have two detailers ready in about fifteen munutes, so you could book both."

"Sounds good."

"Very well, Sir. Pay together, or split the tab?"

"I'll pay for us both."

"Would you like to try our new solvent, Sir? We have small bottles for you if you want to sample it. They're on special offer right now for one credit a bottle, and a full-size bottle is five credits."

"Then we'll take two of tha samples. N' I wanna get the pede special too. Ya wanna have that too, babe? A little extra attention ta your pedes?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you." Barricade says, because he's already feeling like he's getting way too much.

"That'll be one hundred and twelve credits."

Barricade feels weak when he hears the sum, because there's just no way he can do anything to return this very generous gesture. He watches as Jazz makes the transaction, and then they're handed a very fluffy drying cloth, and a small bottle of the solvent Jazz added to the order each, then the mech points towards a door.

"The washracks are in the hallway behind the door, number five is big enough to allow you both at the same time. The detailing rooms are through the pink door at the end of the hallway, number three will be ready for you in twenty minutes."

"Thank ya!" Jazz beams at the mech, before leading the way through the door, towards the washracks. "This is gonna be so nice! I love gettin' waxed, really relaxes me." Jazz says, sounding excited.

"It's going to be lovely. Thank you so much for this." 

Barricade feels uncomfortably awkward to get something so expensive gifted to him, and that awkwardness makes it feel like he doesn't seem appropriately excited and thankful, and that adds to his discomfort, makes him nervous about seeming ungrateful.

"Don' mention it! I've earned really well this week, n' I feel like indulging myself too. I rarely do things like this by myself, jus' don' get around ta it, but doin' it tagether like this will be fun."

The door to their washrack closes behind them, and they both put their towels on the bench outside the shower stall, and Jazz starts the water to set the temperature. The washracks aren't as luxurious as what the brothers had, but they're clean and modern. After a week with just wiping himself clean, Barricade would be fine with a shed and a hose, and this shower looks divine. He quickly joins Jazz, enthusiasm for the shower pushing away his earlier discomfort.

_He's having a shower again. With Jazz._


	390. Chapter 390

The solvent smells really good, and it turns into this thick foam that feels downright luxurious. It leaves his struts and plating feeling almost waxed, and if Barricade had a little more credits, he would definitely buy a bottle.

_But alas, he's too poor, and at the moment, he doesn't even have access to washracks to use the fancy solvent in anyway._

It's easy to push those thoughts to the side when the grime is dissolved, and sluice down the drain. Especially since his digits are mapping out Jazz's frame as he helps the Solstice to wash up, and Jazz's slim digits dip into the seams in Barricade's plating. Barricade's frame is heating up with the ministrations. Jazz leans in for a kiss, pressing his chest-plates against Barricade's

"Ya know, we haven't done this for quite some time. I've missed it." Jazz purrs against his lip-plates, servo slipping down to Barricade's interface panel.

The panel snaps open of it's own accord, and his spike asks for permission to pressurize — a reminder of his time in Hide's house, when he was given protocols for his spike to ask permission before responding to physical stimuli.

"I... What, here?!" He stumbles over the words, almost feeling shy for some reason.

_They're not exactly in public, but it still feels wrong to do it here. Surely there must be rules against that kind of interaction?_

"Why not? We have time..." Jazz mumbles against his neck-cables between trailing little nips and kisses down his cables and wires.

"What if... I mean, I know that nobody can just barge in here, but..." He breaks off, hissing when Jazz circles his spike cover in a way that's glorious, before dipping to his valve.

"We've done it in more public places before..." Jazz snorts at Barricade's sudden onset of shyness.

"Yeah but... This feels... Forbidden?"

"All tha more fun." Jazz says, smirking.

Jazz expertly works his array, slipping his digits inside, and Barricade's valve goes slick and hot, but there's some lingering nervousness about being caught for some reason. He still reciprocates the touches, groping Jazz's plating, and his hips buck into Jazz's servo of their own accord.

"Oh, babe! I've missed this!" Jazz groans, grinding against Barricade's hip, his spike pressurized now. "I really wanna fuck ya against tha wall."

It still feels off, but he is getting charged, and he knows that nobody can catch them in here. 

_The receptionist even suggested that they used the same washracks, and the mech had to know where that would lead, right? And it feels wrong to say no to Jazz after he got him crisps, and paid for this detailing._

"How do you want me?" He purrs as seductively as he can.

_It comes quite easily, even though it's half an act this time, as he's still too nervous and out of his element to really get into it._

_You learned a thing or two in your time at Hide's._

"Chest-plates against tha wall? I wanna fuck ya from behind, so I can play with your wings while I do ya."

"I like the sound of some wing-petting."

_It's not a lie: he really likes when his wings get some attention, and Jazz is really good with his servos. Even if he feels uneasy about the whole fucking-thing._

Barricade turns around, pressing his chest-plates against the tiles, sticking his aft out and wiggling it as enticingly as he can. He hears the way Jazz's engine revs.

"Oh, babe, ya're so hot..." Jazz groans, grabbing Barricade's hips.

The slick head of Jazz's spike slips through his folds, and then it's pushed inside. It teases the sensitive nodes in a very familiar way, and in spite of everything, it feels pretty good. One of Jazz's servos slip up his back-struts to tease the brackets at the base of his wing, and Barricade arches into the touch, gasping with pleasure.


	391. Chapter 391

_It's nice._

One of Jazz's servos curls around his hip for leverage, but the other is tweaking the wiring at the base of his shoulder-wing, and it's driving his charge up. Jazz's spike in his valve certainly doesn't make things worse; it hits all the sensitive spots in that familiar way he's really enjoying.

"Oh, babe, I'm so close!" Jazz moans. "Ya need somethin' more?"

_He's charged, but not there yet, but he doesn't want to be demanding._

"I want to touch my anterior node..." He pants, frame hot enough to run his fans at high speed, and his venting to be labored.

"Of course! Or ya want me ta do it for ya?"

"I... I can do it myself." He grunts, reaching between his legs.

" If ya say so..." Jazz trails off, tweaking that coupling in Barricade's wing joint that is extra sensitive before moving in to a wire that's kinked from work, and then recharging in alt mode.

"Oh, keep doing that..." Barricade groans, even if it is the odd spot of the area that doesn't send a heat to his array.

_It's more like a massage, and it's glorious in a way that's slightly painful._

Jazz obeys, and Barricade almost stops circling his node with his digit, wanting more of the massage.

_Soon. He'll get a waxing soon, and it will be like a massage._

Jazz's fans are speeding up, and his thrusting is increasing in pace, so he's probably getting really close, and Barricade focuses back on his node to get his overload. He manages to tweak it, wringing a small overload out of himself, behind him Jazz grunts, pushing in deep. 

Jazz rests his helm against Barricade's back for long seconds, wrapping his arms around Barricade's waist while his spike slowly depressurizes, slipping out of Barricade's valve.

"I've missed this." He mumbles against Barricade's back. "Well, not just this! I've missed _you_."

"I've missed you too." 

_It's not a lie, and even if this wasn't the best interface he's ever had, it's what he can get right now, since he doesn't even have a motel room they can go to._

Jazz let's go of him, and Barricade turns around to face him.

"I guess we better clean up." He says, reaching for his array.

"Wan' me ta help ya?" Jazz leers.

"You'll just start over again, and then we'll be late for the waxing." Barricade smirks, cocking an optical ridge.

Jazz pouts, and he's so cute when he does that, Barricade's spark skips a revolution. 

"It is true, though..." Jazz says, handing Barricade the solvent.

They clean up in silence, but it doesn't feel oppressive, and Barricade's awkwardness about the situation has disappeared.

_Facing really does help relieving tension, and he's going to enjoy this generous gift. _

_Yeah, anything else would be silly._


	392. Chapter 392

_It would be very easy to doze off._

_Yes, and very rude, so don't._

_Not going to. I just ascertained it._

The mech who's stroking the wax into his plating is very good — he's a pro, after all, so that's not really a surprise — applying it with the perfect amount of force to not tickle, but not to jostle the brackets that are sore from his work. Having his arms waxed is glorious, because it really helps his kinked cables and wires loosen their tension and smooth into place.

::Ya look like ya're in tha eight level of tha well, havin' a feast with Primus himself.:: Jazz comms him, amusement in his voice.

::This is glorious! Didn't know I needed it this bad... Thank you so much for coming up with this idea.::

::Ya looked like ya needed it; all tense, n' stiff. N' I really should do this more often too. I always promise myself ta do when I'm here, but then I wind up for gettin' it.::

_Jazz can afford to go at least once a month, probably more if he wants to._

_Yeah, the job may be bad, but the pay and the benefits are not..._

_He's not going back there. Not with Blackout still wanting a piece of him — a piece he doesn't want to give — and the looming prospect of picking up random Johns in the streets if he makes the cut and get permanently employed._

_You'd be with Jazz much more, though..._

_Which really is the most alluring thing about going back to Ironhide. He really wants to live with Jazz, but he's going to try to make that happen in a different way first._

::What'cha thinkin' 'bout?::

::How I want to spend more time with you. This is lovely, but I miss cuddling up, watching a movie and things like that too. I really need to find an apartment.::

::Housin' market tough?::

::Yeah, and the segment I'm looking at is pretty limited, and everyone who works a lower wage job is competing for those apartments. I've always been to late calling so far.::

::Ya'll get one soon. I'm sure you will.::

::I really hope so.::

_It's nice that Jazz is so supportive, even though he really tried to talk him into staying with Hide before._

_He really is a keeper, that one. You better come up with a way to make this work, and keep his interest. _

_He's painfully aware of that. Jazz really is a gem. If the brothers did conjuxes, Jazz would already be taken, and if it wasn't for his job, he would probably not still have been single._

_You're pretty lucky, aren't you? Even if you make dumbass decisions now and then._

_"..."_


	393. Chapter 393

Barricade is sitting on a bench in the park, loath to go back to his cubicle yet.

_Three weeks, and still not a real place to live._

Jazz drove home an hour ago, to get ready for work. Sunday is party night, so he was very happy to declare that he was on in-house duty today.

_Wonder who he'll be fucking?_

_Maybe more than one brother? It's very lucrative, after all. _

Unlike washing dishes. Every weekend, he's forced to eat into his meager savings to pay for the cubicle, and to get some fuel. Jazz paid for a motel room last week, to get them a place where they could fuck, and cuddle, and since he rented it for twenty-four hours, Barricade finally got to recharge in a berth. It was very much needed, recharging in alt mode is taking it's toll on his joints.

He flexes his servos repeatedly when he gets a creeping sensation in one of the cylinders, spark going cold with dread. 

_Is he already starting to break down?_

The creeping stops, and he blows out a vent he didn't know he was holding.

_Not yet._

But it feels like a warning that he not only needs to find a better place to stay for his frame to have a chance at proper rest and recovery, but in the long run, he also needs to find a different job.

Barricade idly picks at the bench, because he has nothing else to do, and even if it's getting cold, he doesn't want to go back to his tiny cubicle, and cram himself into his alt mode to wait for recharge to claim him.

_Everything is so different from what he imagined when he decided to take the job and going at it alone._

Instead of the freedom of being self reliant, he literally has nothing. No, things of his own, nothing to entertain him in the waking hours between recharge and work. His only options are sitting there in his cubicle, or hanging out somewhere outside, or someplace that's free. And sitting around in the tiny mall got old fairly quickly, especially since there's a few energon houses there, and the alluring smell is just mocking him for not being able to afford anything on the menu.

No, there's not much freedom in the life he's living at the moment, but there's one point he never even considered when he moved out of Hide's house.

_He's so fucking lonely._


	394. Chapter 394

"I want to come back."

The words taste bitter on his glossa, but he has thought about this a lot, gone over the pros and cons again and again, and — for now — this is his best options.

The creeps in his arms, have come back at a couple of occasions, and Barricade knows that it's just a matter of time before something gives, and he'll need repairs he can't afford. His parole officer wasn't impressed that he didn't have a real address anymore, and his lack of insurance — though not required — was yet another thing that didn't speak in his favor. Apparently, that increases the risk of becoming a repeat offender.

_Not that he could repeat the offenses he was convicted of. Not even the possession of drugs, because he can't afford it._

He has almost emptied his savings account just paying for the cubicle, and for the occasional med grade fuel, and some lubricants for his joints and bushings, and he's at risk of actually having to be homeless each weekend to make it. 

_Or evade his taxes, but that's probably the quickest way to get back into jail._

It's not a defeat, Barricade refuses to see it that way. He's not going to stay forever, but he might as well live comfortably, and save up while looking for a better job, with a better employer.

Ironhide steeples his digits, looking Barricade over, face unreadable. And Barricade's spark speeds up.

_What if he's spot has been taken by someone else?_ _Or if Hide has changed his mind, and doesn't want him back?_

"So, it didn't work out for you?"

_At least Ironhide isn't smirking, or saying something along the_ I told you so _lines_.

_He'd be entitled to do it. Even Roadbuster warned you about the type of employer you wound up with._

_The Brothers are not much better, they exploit mechs too._

_And just like all the others here, you're allowed to leave this exploitation at any second, yet here you are again..._

"No. I'm not made for that kind of job, so I'd break components again, and the wage was impossible to live on."

Ironhide nods thoughtfully.

"I said that you're welcome back, and I meant it. This is the last time, though. You've left and come back two times now, and you will continue your trial, and possibly be voted in to stay when that is over, then you get to stay as long as you like. But if you leave again, it is for good. I'm all about second chances, but I don't do yo-yo employees. Loyalty is something I take seriously, and you need to make up your mind. You don't need to decide the rest of your future today, but know that if you leave again, that's it."

_It's not unreasonable — they are a criminal gang, after all — and mechs coming and going could be a potential problem. Someone not committed enough may be the perfect opportunity for law enforcement to find themselves a snitch._

"I understand. Is the paperwork you set me up with still valid?"

"Everything that was in our original deal still stands. I think your weed prescription has expired, but I'll get it renewed for you." Ironhide finally cracks a grin, and Barricade is relieved, because he seemed too serious throughout the conversation, even if it's a mercy that he didn't gloat. "Quite a few mechs are going to be thrilled about this. Welcome back."

_Maybe not what he wanted to think about, but it is inevitable — it's why he's here — and he'll just get through it, and watch the flow into his savings account, instead of the dwindling number._

"Thank you. It's good to be back."

_With a roof over his helm, and berths to recharge in, and oil baths, high grade and..._

"May I suggest a trip to the washracks before you go to see Jazz?

Barricade flushes, because he knows what he looks like.


	395. Chapter 395

A shower, and some fuel, makes him feel like a new mech, and then he heads for Jazz's room. It's been a while since he did this routine, but it still feels very familiar in a rather comforting way.

The door slides open even before he knocks, and he steps inside to find both Jazz and Dreadbot stretched out on the berth.

"Hey babe!" Jazz says cheerily.

"Hi. Both of you." Barricade answers, walking over to them, leaning in to kiss Jazz, before he puts the cubes of energon on the floor.

"Well, you two are just denta rottingly adorable. Welcome back, Barricade." Dreadbot says, scooting to the side to make room for Barricade to join them.

"Thank you." Barricade stretches out next to Jazz, wrapping an arm around his waist. "I guess I could have commed you and told you I'm back. I just wanted a shower first." He says sheepishly.

"Oh, Nitro has already tattled. He's excellent at finding out what's going on at any given moment, but he's also the worst gossip ever. Completely scrap at keeping his vocalizer shut. I swear, sometimes I think keeping a secret would cause him to rupture something." Dreadbot tells him, sounding fondly exasperated.

Jazz snorts. "Yeah, he commed us all, n' told us tha second he found out."

_It's kind of ridiculous, really. Shouldn't Warframes be good at keeping secrets? Holding out against interrogation to not spill the intel. But then again, maybe they weren't trusted with any important knowledge? At least it means that he doesn't need to go through the humiliation of every mech in the house asking about, or commenting his return. _

"So... The outside world wasn't as fun as it seemed?" Dreadbot prods.

Barricade can't help but wonder how much Jazz has told the others about everything. Even if he has decided to not see his own return as a defeat, and even if Ironhide didn't seem to think that either, there's always the risk that the pleasurebots think he was stupid to not listen to them and stay in the first place.

_Maybe Dreadbot being here is something he can use to his advantage? Let the gossip mill do a little work for him..._

"No. I really thought it would be easier to find an apartment, and when I didn't, the situation just wasn't working."

"I see."

"And once you get used to comfortable berths, and having people around, it's hard to get used to not having that."

Dreadbot nods slowly. "By the time my debts were paid, I had really settled in here. And I'm not interested in going back to barely scraping by, and shitty jobs. Not when I can pay for this by getting Nitro to eat me regularly."

Barricade snorts his mouthful of energon through his olfactory vent, which makes both Jazz and Dreadbot grin at him.

"It's fun that we still can shock ya so easily." Jazz grins.


	396. Chapter 396

"So, Barricade, are you ready for your comeback?" Dreadbot asks him.

"I guess..."

"Oh, don't sound so hesitant. A few drinks, a good cyg, kick back, relax, and have some fun. After your time away, it'll be like a weekend after a long week of working. The difference between going to a club and partying here isn't really that big. I mean, if you go home with a mech you pick up on a club, you may wind up with someone really awful anyway, and here, you don't have to worry about getting a cab, or date rape."

"I'll remember that."

_Not that he was much for clubbing, and one night stands, but there are some valid points in Dreadbot's statement._

"N' Sunny always talk ta ya before, he never sneaks ya drugs without your knowledge." Jazz supplies.

"That's... good to know."

"Come on, mechs. Let's go get some drinks. Get an early start." Dreadbot says cheekily, climbing off the berth.

Jazz and Barricade follows suit, and they walk down the hallway to the rec room, Dreadbot making a beeline for the bar. He's intercepted by Nitro.

"Allow me to escort you to the bar, and join me for a drink, my pretty?" The mech says with a bad take at an old Vosian accent, holding his lower arm out.

"Why, thank you, Sir." Dreadbot giggles primly, covering his intake with his servo, an innocent look on his face. He puts his servo on Nitro's arm, allowing Nitro to lead him to the bar. "And here I thought chivalry was dead."

Jazz shakes his helm, an amused smile on his face. "I jus' can't understand why he didn' get a breakthrough. I mean, it's obvious he's been an actor. Took me some time ta fit in, but I watched him — n' Cross, n' Drift too — ta learn how ta navigate this. It's so different from what I did before. I don' mean my time with tha Cons, but I definitely had ta act more here before it came more natural."

_That's kind of surprising for a seasoned prostitute._

"I guess it's easier to just offer a blow job, and get on your knees, than..." he motions to Dreadbot and Nitro, where they're now having drinks, but Dreadbot is still giggling coyly at what Nitro says, like a maiden of times long gone, "..._that_."

"Yeah. Ya get used ta it, though. Jus' try ta be as natural as ya can, think 'bout it as picking up a mech in a bar or something, n' what doesn' come natural, jus' see it as roleplay."

"You make it sound easy when you say it like that."

"Well, it isn' rocket science..."

"I guess not."

"Jus' know that ya're not tha only one who finds it hard in tha beginning." Jazz pats his aft. "Ya can do it."

"I think I'm mostly apprehensive about the things I don't really want to do. I mean, some mechs have ideas I'd rather not be part of."

Jazz shrugs. "Then that's _work_, n' tha things ya can dig is paid leisure."

_It sound so easy, and he's going to try to get into that mindset, but it's not as easy as Jazz makes it sound._

"So should we follow the example of those two, and get an early start with the drinks?"

"_Now _ya're startin' ta get tha hang of this!" Jazz grins, then he drags Barricade along to the bar.

Jazz mixes them each two shots, while Barricade takes a seat, glancing at Nitro and Dreadbot. Their little roleplay seems to be over, but Dreadbot is still giggling at something Nitro said.

_He's so fucking lucky to be Nitro's favorite._

_Maybe luck has nothing to do with it? Maybe he just knows how to turn the big mechs crank, and is very good at what he does?_

Nitro catches his optics, and Barricade gets nervous that he was inadvertently staring too intensely, so he occupies himself with downing one of his shots.

"This certainly beats being solitary, don't you think?" Nitro rumbles.


	397. Chapter 397

Barricade works his intake, uncertain what to say.

_Does Nitro recognize him after all? His history is known among the pleasurebots, but does Nitro remember him? Will it have an impact on things around here? _

_They probably won't think less of you for hiding away and cowering in solitary. They already think so little of you, it can't be much worse._

_Shut up._

"I guess..."

"Yeah, I mean living all alone sounds boring. Drinking alone..." Nitro quirks his optical ridge, raising his glass in a semi-toast, "no easy access to good dick." The following grab of his own interface plate shouldn't be surprising, but at least Barricade manages to keep from making a face.

"Oh, behave, you crude mech-whore, the world doesn't revolve around you, or your spike." Dreadbot chides him, slapping his arm lightly, but he's grinning.

"I'm just saying... I've never lived alone, though, so I don't know. We were always crammed into the barracks, and I can't say I mind having mechs around." Nitro shrugs, taking a deep swig from his drink.

Barricade relaxes.

_It was just a general question, and a bit of Nitro's trademark crudeness._

"But I guess you're used to being alone from your time in prison."

"I-I..." Barricade stutters. "You recognize me after all?"

Nitro Zeus does that smug smirk of his that Barricade has learned to recognize. 

"Reconnaissance is my forte, and generally, it's smart to mind your surroundings. I remember being booked at the same time as a cop, and that's something to file away for further reference, and more careful research. And even when you were painted orange, a Praxian with your optic set up is distinctive enough to recognize."

"And yet you invited me to your cell."

"I was horny," Nitro leers unrepentantly, "and your frame was one of the nicest ones in there. I figured you'd be tired of being in solitary after so long, but in need of protection to dare get back into gen pop, so my money was that you'd be more likely than anyone else to make a deal."

"Looked like you were good enough with your own servo to keep busy."

Nitro barks a laugh. "Oh I'm experienced, and quite adapt at it. Doesn't mean that pussy isn't better."

"I wasn't sure that you weren't just tricking me. Saying you'd keep me safe, just to offline me at the first chance."

_But that's not the real reason, is it? You were just too prude to do it..._

_Maybe that too, but a mech really doesn't need to be a prude to not want to be gang raped and murdered in prison._

_You wouldn't have done it anyway, even if you knew it was safe. Yet here you are now..._

"A valid concern, I suppose."

"So what were you in for? If you don't mind me asking."

Nitro shakes his helm, a chuckle leaving his vocalizer, as if he thinks it's both unbelievable, and amusing.

"FUI, resisting arrest, assaulting an Enforcer."


End file.
